


Try To Change The Ending

by phyllisverse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Good Mordred (Merlin), M/M, Magic Revealed, Minor Character Death, Necromancy, Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyllisverse/pseuds/phyllisverse
Summary: Merlin tells the truth instead of lying, and has to deal with unexpected consequences. Maybe, just maybe, he can learn to stop letting prophecies run his life.
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Mordred (Merlin)
Comments: 135
Kudos: 494





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I needed more Merdred in my life! It was meant to be fluff but I guess plot happened. Thank you to my wonderful beta-readers for putting up with me and my strange ideas.
> 
> This ff is *finished* but I'm putting the chapters up in stages over the next few weeks.

Lightning flashed through the sky. It illuminated Morgana’s cloak for a split second and Merlin rushed to catch up with her. The rain had him drenched and frozen to the bone, and every movement came with the unpleasant sensation of wet fabric dragging across his skin, moving pockets of cold air along his body. Merlin broke into a run, but Morgana seemed to move further and further away no matter how fast he moved.

Another flash of lightning and he saw Morgana, killing Uther in his bed. Morgana, being crowned queen. Morgana, eyes blazing red… Merlin stopped, disoriented, and shook his head. This wasn’t right. Uther had already died. This couldn’t be a vision.

“And did you try to stop it?” Kilgharrah’s deep rumble sounded inside Merlin’s skull. He stared around, looking for the dragon’s familiar shape, but the rain closed in on him like a solid black wall.

“You know I did!” Merlin shouted. “I tried to stop all of them!” He shivered and squinted through the water running down his face, into the blackness. Where had the castle gone?

Another flash of lightning and he stood on a battlefield, bathed in a blood red sunrise, watching Mordred lift his sword towards Arthur.

“No!” Merlin ran towards him and saw him turn at the sound. When Mordred faced him, he was the young druid child that Morgana had once hidden in her chambers.

“Why, Emrys? Why did you try to kill me?” His voice rang in Merlin’s head, reverberating a thousand times. Merlin felt his heartbeat pounding in terror without knowing why.

“I tried to stop it,” he whispered to Mordred. “I tried to stop the prophecy.” His knees gave out and he fell into the mud. A small figure knelt down in front of him; he felt a hand on his chin, lifting his eyes to meet theirs.

“Oh Merlin,” Hunith said sadly. “Have you learned nothing?” Merlin could see Gaius behind her, shaking his head, disappointment etched on his face. Arthur walked into his field of vision and looked at him with barely concealed disgust. “Have you learned nothing?” he repeated. His words replayed in Merlin’s mind over and over; he clutched his head, trying to cover his ears, and screwed shut his eyes-

Merlin awoke with a start, gasping for air. His room lay quiet and distinctly peaceful, the clothes and books strewn across the floor barely visible in the faint light of a sunrise still an hour away. Not even the shadows looked threatening; familiar traces of Merlin’s magic filled the air in their usual quiet hum.

Merlin rubbed his eyes and sighed, the nightmare already slipping away from him. He wished it had come to him a little later – he could have done with a lie-in today.

Reluctantly, he dressed and headed out, careful not to wake Gaius. Arthur and the knights were riding North today, after some reports from the Northern villages of a large bear foraging their cattle, far away from its usual habitat. Of course, Arthur had to decide that instead of just sending one or two capable knights, he would take the opportunity to tour the North, turning the whole thing into a week-long trip for Merlin to plan.

Not that he _really_ disapproved, Merlin reflected while absent-mindedly packing provisions and saddle bags with the help of two other servants. It would be good to get out of the castle and break the monotony of his chores.

“Will wonders never cease. You are actually on time.” Arthur’s reply to Merlin’s cheery “good morning” immediately soured his mood.

“I thought I would have to get George to drag you out of bed,” the king continued, completely ignoring Merlin’s grimace.

“That was _one_ time!”

“Well clearly it worked a charm, if you’re getting up now.” Arthur grinned widely and Merlin rolled his eyes at him.

Less than an hour later, they were on the road – Arthur had left Leon in charge of the guard and taken Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Mordred along. The last addition didn’t sit well with Merlin, but as Gaius had reasonably explained the night before, wouldn’t Merlin rather keep an eye on Mordred than leave him behind at Camelot? The thought brought back a flash of the nightmare he had had earlier – Merlin forcefully pushed the faint echo of his mother's voice out of his mind. Mordred was… a topic Merlin would rather not think about, but as he rode at the back of the group, Merlin’s eyes were unwittingly drawn to the man. Arthur’s being so obviously besotted with him had initially left Merlin more suspicious than ever, but now…

Merlin sighed. He hated to admit it, but Mordred had yet to give him a reason to distrust him.

“Merlin, don’t dawdle,” Arthur called from the front of the group, because he apparently had eyes in the back of his head.

“Right behind you, Sire,” Merlin called back in his best sarcastic voice. He saw Mordred flinch and turn his head to shoot him a look – Merlin ignored it and Gwaine’s laughter drowned out Arthur’s stock reply about “the world’s worst servant”.

They stayed in a deserted cave that night, which they often used during hunting trips. The following two days took them into less familiar terrain, until Merlin stopped recognizing parts of the forest entirely.

“We should reach the Valley of Spring tomorrow morning.” Arthur flattened out a crumpled map and traced their progress with his index finger, mainly towards Mordred and Elyan – Gwaine and Percival seemed more interested in their food. Merlin scooted closer to see the spot that Arthur tapped on the parchment.

“What’s in the Valley of Spring then?” he asked, between mouthfuls.

Arthur shrugged. “Nothing of interest. There are some rumours of enchantment, but I have never seen anything of the sort there.”

Alarm bells went off in Merlin’s mind and he had to bite down his questions, instead walking off to clear up the plates and leftovers of food. Sometimes, he wondered whether Arthur intentionally invited trouble of the magical variety wherever he went.

“It’s named after a spring ritual.” Mordred’s soft voice made Merlin jump and nearly drop the bowls he was packing away. He hadn’t realised the knight had followed him.

“What kind of ritual?” he asked, wary.

Mordred shrugged. “I never went – but the Elders talked about it. Representatives from each druid settlement used to travel there when the snow started thawing, to welcome spring back into the land.”

Merlin didn’t know what to do with this conversational tone – since when did Mordred talk to him as if they were friends?

“So it’s not dangerous.” He looked inquiringly at Mordred, whose expression shut off. Merlin sighed. “What am I thinking; of _course_ it is dangerous if Arthur decides to go there.”

A call from the campfire interrupted their conversation, and Mordred hurried back to help Elyan, but he replied nevertheless, straight into Merlin’s mind: _“It hasn’t been used since the Purge – Uther tried to waylay Druids at the valley during one of the rituals so they have avoided it since.”_

Merlin shivered, not just at the chilling turn in the story. Something about mind-to-mind communication felt intrusive, as if Mordred were looking right into Merlin. _You know that’s not how it works,_ he told himself firmly. In his initial paranoia over Mordred’s reappearance, Merlin had researched druid communication in every book he could find, and despite the lack of detail available on how it actually worked, he confirmed – to his relief – that it had nothing to do with mind reading.

That night, Merlin’s dreams were all fragments of war and blood red sunrises.

~~

The Valley of Spring could have earned its name for its appearance alone. The forest broke with no warning in front of them, only a few trees lining the sloping path into a field of wildflowers that stretched almost as far as the eye could reach, had the mountains not towered in the background, throwing a line of shadow halfway across the valley, meeting grass turned golden by the sun. Bird song accompanied their slow descent, the sweet smell of flowers mixing in the fresh air. Merlin couldn’t help but smile.

“Just need a tavern right there-” Gwaine pointed to the tree line. “-and this would be heaven.”

Percival laughed and shook his head.

“Nature is wasted on you,” Elyan told Gwaine, who immediately took the opportunity to start a philosophical argument about nature and ale and his hair. (Merlin might have been a bit fuzzy on the details – he tuned out long before the discussion took off.) Mordred, riding in front of Merlin again, didn’t engage in the banter, but instead looked out over the valley in silence. Merlin wished he could see his facial expression. He could feel the magic pooling in the lower planes, becoming denser the further they went. Still, his worries from last night didn’t materialise – the magic felt wild, but welcoming. His own magic stretched curious tendrils into the ground, and Merlin had to reel it in to stop getting distracted.

By the time they reached the bottom of the slope, the sun had risen fully and chased the last shadows from the valley. Even Gwaine’s chatter subsided once they started the trek through the grass, high enough to graze their ankles.

“Watch out for snakes,” Arthur called. Despite the words, he didn’t sound worried – Merlin caught a glimpse of his smile and instinctively relaxed. Arthur had needed a break, he realised. Suddenly, the Northern tour looked less like an opportunity for showing off (“I am the king, Merlin, meeting my people is not showing off”) and more like a chance to escape the Council Room, endless visitors, and people watching his every move. Merlin let the valley’s magic flow through him and decided to stop worrying for a little while.

Of course, at that very moment, a panicked voice shouted his name.

It took Merlin a frenzied heartbeat to realise three things: that the voice had been in his mind, that it belonged to Mordred, and that the knight had stiffened in his saddle; he was slowing down, struggling with something. Merlin urged his horse to fall in line with Mordred’s and found him with his eyes shut tightly, hands in fists around his reins.

“What’s going on?” Merlin hissed. Mordred’s body was shaking from suppressed effort.

_“My magic - I can’t -”_ Mordred spoke in his mind, sounding no less panicked than before. He shot a quick look at Merlin, who nearly fell off his horse in shock – Mordred’s eyes shone a bright gold.

Merlin threw a quick look at the other knights, who mercifully had their backs turned, and frantically shook his head at Mordred, telling him without words to close his eyes again. The younger knight complied, his voice ringing through Merlin’s mind again.

_“I can’t get it back under control - something about this place -”_

Mordred’s horse, clearly feeling the discomfort of its rider, started fidgeting and looked ready to bolt.

_“Merlin - please-”_

When he thought about it later, Merlin should have probably considered the possibility that this was a trap. But Mordred’s voice sounded so desperate that Merlin didn’t think at all.

“Bøanløag gesweorc,” he hissed, stretching out his arm over the valley, pulling the wild magic from around him and funneling it into the spell.

“What was that, Merlin?” Elyan half-turned in his saddle and Merlin quickly sped up to hide Mordred from view. He pointed past Elyan, making the knight turn back to follow his gaze.

“Fog!” Arthur shouted at the moment, slightly superfluously – they could all see the tendrils stretching towards them and rising from the ground at an unnatural speed.

Arthur’s voice rang through the mist. “Everyone – follow the usual rules. Who’s got Mordred?”

“I do,” Merlin shouted back as cheerfully as he could manage, nudging his horse against the knight’s to make sure not to lose him.

“I’m with Elyan,” Gwaine called out.

“Good. I’m with Percival. See you on the other side.”

Merlin had travelled through heavy fog – not always the magic induced kind – many times with the knights. Arthur’s rules were simple: split into pairs, slow down, watch your footing, and go in a straight line until the fog recedes.

The fog surrounded them faster than usual, helped along by the valley's magic. By the time Merlin had stopped both his and Mordred’s horse, he could no longer see Elyan and Gwaine in front of them.

“Can you get down?” he asked Mordred quietly. The knight shook his head abruptly. Despite the poor view, Merlin could make out the sweat on Mordred’s forehead. He opened his eyes, blazing with magic now.

“Can barely hold onto it,” he choked out.

“Ok, don’t worry.” Merlin looked at the distance between the horses and led his mare into a tight turn, moving her as close as possible to Mordred’s horse until he was next to Mordred, their legs pressed together between the horses’ flanks.

“Lean over,” he instructed, gesturing towards himself. Mordred complied, shaking with effort – with so little space between them, Merlin could feel the tension from the younger man, could feel his magic leaking out into the valley, despite Mordred clearly using all his strength to stop it. Their horses fidgeted, and Merlin nearly slipped from his saddle, steadying himself on Mordred’s thigh at the last second. The knight tensed even more, and Merlin muttered a spell to calm the horses, pulling his hand back as soon as he found his balance again.

Merlin didn’t know what to do but his magic did – leaning over the gap, his hands went to both sides of Mordred’s face and he _pushed_ , very lightly, allowing his own magic to run over Mordred, enveloping all of him, including those tendrils of his magic trying to escape. He didn’t realise he had closed his eyes until Mordred gasped, his breath ghosting over Merlin’s skin. He kept his own shut, praying to the gods that it hadn’t been a gasp of pain. Slowly, and very gently, he started coaxing Mordred’s magic back into his body, pushing and prodding. It complied almost too easily, recoiling from Merlin wherever he nudged it, folding back on itself. Merlin followed its retreat, focusing on making his own magic as unthreatening as possible, until he could feel the last tendrils settle back into Mordred’s skin.

Merlin withdrew his magic slowly, dropping his hands. He opened his eyes and found Mordred, face inches from his, staring straight at him, eyes back to their stormy grey, complete and utter shock on his face.

“There,” Merlin said softly, uneasy under his stare and feeling strangely vulnerable in his shabby tunic, his legs pressed against the cold chainmail of the knight, his thighs burning from the strain of holding himself still. “Better?”

Something strange passed over Mordred’s face. An instant later, he snapped into a schooled expression of indifference and dropped his gaze, pulling back into his saddle. He nodded, not meeting Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin pushed a swirl of emotions and questions firmly from his mind, aware that any moment they wasted made them fall further behind, and risked someone coming back to look for them. He turned his mare back around, doing his best to avoid any more body contact with Mordred. It felt like an eternity had passed since he had cast the spell, but the fog around them still pressed on them as thickly as when it had first appeared. A few minutes of a gentle trot later, they made out the outlines of the other knights.

Merlin turned to Mordred and opened his mouth to say something encouraging, but the other man had already sped up past him without as much as a glance back.

That night, Merlin lay on his bedroll wide awake, the glowing embers from the campfire fading beside him. Mordred had remained quiet and withdrawn all day and not spoken a word to Merlin, who couldn’t shake the feeling that he had missed something significant. Had he hurt Mordred when he pushed back his magic? It hadn’t _felt_ like he had used any force. Or what if he had broken some unspoken Druid rule?

Oh gods, Merlin thought, turning restlessly, that actually might be true. Surely there must be spells to stop someone losing control of their magic, and Merlin just didn’t know them, and in his ignorance, he had horribly overstepped Mordred’s boundaries by reaching out with his magic. He didn’t want to think about any _other_ boundaries he may have overstepped – Mordred’s startled gaze so close that he could see the specks of gold receding from it as the last of his magic settled back into his skin, his breath warm against Merlin’s face, or the shock etched into every muscle of his usually so controlled expression-

_Get a grip,_ Merlin told himself. _You’ve seen what practice sessions are like with the knights; they’re all over each other. Mordred won’t be bothered by physical proximity. This is clearly about what you did to his magic._

Satisfied to have reached a conclusion, but far too exhausted to figure out what to do about it, Merlin fell into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Watch out!” Arthur bellowed, diving out of the way. Merlin threw himself flat on the ground and narrowly avoided being ripped apart by a massive claw.

The bear roared so loudly Merlin’s ears rang, spit flying from its mouth, red eyes burning. When they had finally tracked it down, they were in the midst of thick, dark forest, warmth of the open valley long forgotten. It had seemed mostly like a normal bear – a little on the big side maybe, Merlin had thought, but surely not too much trouble for five knights-

Until it had turned around and its undead red eyes stared straight into Merlin’s, as if to mock him. Because why would life ever be simple?

Another roar cut through Merlin’s thoughts and he lifted his head a fraction, just in time to see Elyan cleanly cut off the bear’s paw. However, the knight clearly expected this injury to slow down the beast; it didn’t (because it was _dead_ , Merlin thought with exasperation and panic), instead coming at Elyan on its three remaining legs at an impressive speed-

At which point Percival dropped from the tree above onto its back and put a sword through its head.

_Nonononono_ , Merlin mouthed silently, his front soaking from the dewy forest ground. He tried to get a clean line of sight between bear and human limbs as the bear went berserk: armor flashed, shouts echoed around the clearing, half drowned out by the fight, but _finally_ , while the bear tried to smash Percival backwards into a nearby tree trunk, Arthur managed to get close and he sank Excalibur straight into its heart.

No one noticed the spell Merlin whispered when it sank in, or the sword’s unnaturally golden glow as the dragon fire which forged its blade cut the undead’s life force away with a snap. It fell, like a puppet abandoned by its master, collapsing in on itself, Percival landing heavily on top. He clambered down as if he hadn’t just had his rib cage crushed by a giant beast, and gave a grin when Arthur clapped his shoulder.

“Good work,” the king declared.

Merlin got halfway through rolling his eyes when he noticed Mordred watching him with a small smile on his face, but he looked away before Merlin could say anything.

“Deep breaths,” Merlin instructed Percival. “Raise your arms.” Percival complied with the air of someone showing endless patience in the face of madness. Merlin prodded at his ribs carefully, checking for any lumps or reaction indicating pain, and when none came, declared him injury free.

“I would say you’ll bruise, but you seem to be made of rock,” Merlin muttered.

Percival just grinned and gripped his shoulder before ambling over to join Gwaine and Arthur. Gwaine was animatedly prodding the carcass of the dead bear with his sword and already reliving (and embellishing) the victorious fight to a laughing Arthur.

Merlin snorted and turned away, spotting Elyan and Mordred in conversation by the line of trees. Elyan had a rare smile on his face and patted Mordred on the back – the younger knight ducked his head, muttering something in reply, looking pleased but slightly uncomfortable. Merlin wondered what they were talking about.

He went over to Arthur instead.

“It’s cold. And wet,” he complained loudly, with an exaggerated shiver, interrupting Gwaine’s account of the bear attempting to wrestle the sword out of his hand. “Can we go?”

Arthur called Merlin a girl at least three times, and Gwaine grumbled about not having finished his story, but the whole group eventually got back on their horses, so Merlin counted his intervention as a success.

They notified the nearby villages of the bear’s death, which meant they also had to spend the appropriate amount of time showing interest in their farming (Merlin _had_ genuine interest, but Arthur had him running around passing on messages, finding out and noting down the villages’ stock levels after the winter, their taxes in the past year, all while diplomatically declining invitations to stay); when they finally started back on the road, the sun was approaching the horizon.

“This will do,” Arthur declared after a mercifully short ride back into the mountains, at a small clearing sheltered by some overhanging rock. Merlin gave a sigh of relief and set up a fire while the knights laid out their bed rolls.

Arthur gestured at him. “First watch, Merlin.”

Merlin bit back a groan and nodded, wrapping his cloak around him and looking for a place to perch. He glanced back to find Arthur giving him a strange look. “Are you ill, Merlin? I don’t hear any complaining.”

“Sorry Sire, I didn’t realise you missed it so much.” Merlin grinned. “I will make sure to complain more.”

Arthur shook his head. “This is what it has come to. You actually behaving like a servant is a cause for concern.”

Merlin saw Mordred across the fire. He had frozen in the process of arranging his covers, listening in to their conversation. Merlin decided to go and settle on a wooden log with a view over the clearing and nearby forest. If it just so happened to face away from Mordred, well, surely that was an added bonus. The young man was unsettling him – he didn’t know how to feel about Mordred’s continued silence, and there had been no opportunity to confront him about it.

The hushed conversations around the fireplace died away quickly, replaced by snoring. Merlin relaxed, tension rolling from his shoulders. Things hadn’t gone too badly, he reflected. Who would resurrect a bear, Merlin could only guess – a botched attempt at necromancy? An intentional act of sabotage? He found comfort in the knowledge that its target most likely hadn't been Arthur – no one could have reasonably expected him to go hunt down the bear himself.

Merlin heard movement behind him, and soft footsteps approached. He sat still as Mordred came closer and joined him on the log. Mordred's shoulders touched Merlin’s and, when he didn’t move away, remained pressed against his.

_“You must think me ungrateful,”_ Mordred spoke into his mind. _“I haven’t thanked you for helping me back in the valley.”_

Merlin started, then shrugged. The lack of gratitude honestly hadn’t crossed his mind, and he said so.

“I did something to upset you,” he added, half statement, half question.

There was a long pause before Mordred’s voice came back, clear in his head.

_“It’s not the first time I’ve lost control of my magic, though it hasn’t happened for a long time.”_

He sounded almost wistful and Merlin shot him a glance.

_“I used to quite often, as a child. The Elders couldn’t deal with my magic. It was always a bit too wild for a druid… They had to restrain it quite a few times to stop me from causing damage.”_

Merlin cocked his head. He hadn’t expected the story to go this way, and couldn’t help but think of his own childhood and the many, many near-misses of his magic acting up.

_“They weren’t as powerful as you, of course,”_ Mordred continued, and looked amused when Merlin grimaced at the word. _“Their methods were a little less refined – but essentially the same.”_

“So what _was_ the difference?” Merlin whispered.

Mordred turned to look at him, his probing eyes too close for comfort.

“You really need to teach me how to do the mind thing,” Merlin quipped, trying to dissolve the tension. “It’s not much fun having these one-sided conversations.”

For the second time during their trip, Mordred’s guarded expression broke – this time the surprise turned into an outright laugh. Merlin stared. Mordred’s usually cold, expressionless front had been replaced by something young and carefree. It vanished as Mordred caught himself; Merlin immediately wanted to see more of it.

_What do you expect,_ he scolded himself. _You tried to kill him. Twice._

“You know, I always thought you were making a point,” Mordred said, quietly but out loud, with a careful glance back at the sleeping group. “That not answering me in kind was your way of-” He gestured vaguely.

“Being rude?” Merlin supplied.

The smile he received didn’t quite transform Mordred as it had before, but he counted it as a victory nonetheless.

"It's not hard, you would pick it up quickly," Mordred offered cautiously – a peace offering, but not an unconditional one.

Merlin decided not to push it. "So how was it different? When the Elders did it?"

Mordred reverted back to mind speak as he continued his story. _"Whether or not you're a powerful sorcerer, that kind of magic requires you to engage without any layers of protection. It’s difficult to hide yourself if you reach out to someone's magic with yours."_

The walls were back up on Mordred's face. He stared straight ahead. _"It took a few times for me to figure it out, but eventually I realised that the Elders – they… disliked me. Hated me, really. I could feel it every time, when they used their magic to restrain mine."_

Merlin's mind reeled. He had never considered that Mordred's upbringing as a druid may have been anything but peaceful.

_"I asked why, of course,"_ Mordred continued. _"They lied. They told me I was imagining things, misreading their magic. To their credit, they never treated me unkindly, and had it not been for those incidents, I would have never guessed their feelings.”_ His voice dropped into something softer. “ _I never found out what caused them."_

Merlin could almost hear the unspoken words “before they died”. He closed his eyes, trying to hide his reaction. Because _he_ knew, of course. He knew exactly why the druids, who accepted prophecies and visions simply as a part of the future that the Fates had determined, would hate Mordred for what he would do one day, but still raise him dutifully. Druids did not believe that prophecies could be changed. Mordred would have been like a vessel to them, a messenger of death who nevertheless needed to be clothed and fed like any other.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

_"It's funny really,"_ Mordred continued, with no trace of humour in his voice. _"I didn't expect hate when I first felt it from the Elders, so of course it took me by surprise. I_ definitely _expected it from you."_ He turned and met Merlin's eyes.

_Oh._ The next words almost felt like Merlin's own thoughts, as he realised what exactly had thrown Mordred so much.

"You don't hate me. You don't even distrust me. Just how is that, Merlin, when you have only ever wanted me dead?"


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin, for once, couldn't think of a single word to say. He stared out over the clearing without seeing it, thinking of the young druid boy who fought off a group of soldiers with magic, the same scared boy hiding in Morgana's room, the man he had grown into, stabbing Morgana to save Arthur, and the vision, always the vision, of the man he would become, betraying his new master like he had the last one.

Movement caught his eye, and he froze.

"Mordred," he said, in a forcibly calm voice, and pointed.

"It's just a rabbit, Merlin."

"Look at its eyes."

Mordred was up from the log, hand on his sword, before Merlin could stop him. The rabbit, glowing red eyes flashing in their direction, took off and ran back into the forest. Merlin sighed. The knights were such a bad influence on Mordred.

He quickly checked that none of those bad influences had woken up from the noise.

"Stay here," he instructed. "I'll see where it came from."

Mordred opened his mouth to object, so Merlin added: "If anything attacks you, wake Arthur. His sword can kill undead things."

With that, he walked into the forest.

As soon as he stepped through the line of trees and allowed his magic to sense ahead, he could feel it – a very slight _wrongness_ in the fabric of space, which he knew was there but couldn't quite pinpoint the source of, like a sleeve that had been sown onto a coat back to front. He followed the feeling, up into the mountains, into ever denser forest.

Then, abruptly, between one step and the next, it stopped.

Merlin slowly turned in a circle, and took a small step back in the direction he came from. The wrongness returned immediately. He followed the boundary, stomach churning as he kept stepping between one side and the other.

Just when he considered stopping altogether to avoid throwing up his dinner, a large tree blocked Merlin's path and he looked up, squinting to make out its silhouette in the pale moonlight. The oak must have been struck by lightning not long ago, which had cracked its trunk in several places. Decayed and burned branches hung off one side, but the other had started growing again, new leaves reaching for the skies. Merlin put his hand on the tree bark, and nearly jumped in shock.

_What the-_

His hand, though feeling no pain, had turned grey and translucent, skeleton visible through its thinning flesh. He withdrew it, and it immediately looked normal and healthy again.

Merlin closed his eyes and reached for the tree with his magic. This time, it took no effort to figure out the source of the feeling. There was a tear in the tree, breaking more than its wood – a tear between worlds. Merlin carefully sent his magic out to push at its edges.

If this was a wound, it was healing.

This had been bigger once, a fully-fledged opening into the world of the dead, but time and space had restored it slowly, and now it barely opened wide enough to let through a small animal.

Merlin considered it. Whatever had happened here must have led to the undead bear’s appearance, but it no longer seemed to pose a danger. He could leave it to heal, and it would close in a day or two. Merlin cocked his head, eyes still closed, testing the gap. _Or_ he could speed up the healing process.

Mind made up, Merlin sat cross-legged on the damp moss and put both hands against the tree. He focused on continuing the repair of time and space, just slightly more quickly, like growing skin over a cut. He could feel the tear responding to his magic, starting to close up-

Until he met an unexpected resistance.

Merlin's eyes flew open. It had been no more than a quick brush against his magic, but something, on the other side of the tear, was trying to get _out_.

 _"Merlin?"_ Mordred's voice rang clear in his mind and the warlock cursed. He didn't need any company right now, especially not Arthur's. Merlin scrambled back into a standing position, trying to look as innocuous as possible, but when Mordred came into sight between the trees, he was alone.

"The others?" Merlin asked.

"Back at the camp," Mordred replied. "I told them I would look for you in case you got lost. They don't know what's going on." He paused and eyed the tree. "Neither do I."

Merlin wordlessly dropped back on the ground and pushed his magic through the remaining gap this time, trying to find the resistance he had met before.

"Is this – a portal?" Mordred sounded unsure.

"I was closing it," Merlin explained shortly. "But there's something trapped inside."

His magic found it then. A life, in a sea of dead. He hooked onto it and _pulled_.

"What do you mean, trapped in-"

Mordred never finished his sentence, because at that moment, a head appeared in the middle of the broken bark. A very human head, belonging to a young child.

Merlin could feel less resistance now – the tear was barely big enough to pull through the body, however small, but it _wanted_ to get out, almost like the world behind the veil was trying to get rid of it. As soon as its feet made it through, alongside a squeaking rodent, the tear simply snapped shut.

Mordred had rushed over to catch the child, who Merlin now saw was a young boy, maybe four or five years of age, with a mop of dark brown hair and pale cheeks. While unconscious, he was breathing, and didn't show any obvious signs of injury. The dark green material of his tunic and trousers, though dirty and crumpled, looked notably expensive.

Merlin and Mordred exchanged a grim look. The boy’s clothing indicated a connection to nobility, which made his strange re-birth even more ominous.

"What was he doing behind the veil? How could he even get there while alive?" Mordred asked, talking more to himself than Merlin. “Is he all right?”

“I think so,” Merlin confirmed, checking the boy’s pulse and breathing. He looked at the knight, whose gaze hadn't left the boy's still face, and sighed. "Let's take him back to the camp. Arthur may know what to do. Come to think of it," he added, spotting an intricate design on the front of the boy’s tunic, "he might know who he is."

"Where did you say you found him?" Arthur looked down on the unexpected addition to their party.

"In the woods, Sire, lying up against a tree. I thought he must be asleep, but it looks like something knocked him unconscious."

Mordred nodded gravely at Merlin's words, as if they made perfect sense. Arthur frowned.

"And _why_ were you wandering the woods, exactly?"

Merlin shrugged. "I thought I heard a noise. Maybe I imagined it."

"A noise," Arthur countered, and paused, sudden understanding dawning in his eyes. "I see."

Merlin left him to his speculations. Clearly the king had noticed, and decided not to draw attention to, the style of clothing and the sigil. Arthur most likely knew exactly who the boy was, and had come up with a workable – though likely wrong – theory as to how he had ended up where they "found" him.

Arthur confirmed his suspicions by snapping into action.

"Merlin, Mordred, get some sleep. I'll stay on watch and keep an eye on the boy. We'll take him to the next village with us."

Merlin obliged only too happily. His exhaustion caught up with him as soon as he hit his bed roll, driving any further speculation and worries from his mind. _I need to talk to Mordred_ , he thought hazily. There was something important they had been discussing… He fell asleep before he could remember it.

~~

When the morning came – far too quickly for Merlin's liking – the boy had woken up and been introduced to them as Kieran. He joined the group of knights for breakfast with a poorly disguised appetite and an even more obvious hero worship for Arthur. Merlin watched him covertly for signs of injury or pain, relieved to find none.

"What's Arthur done to him?" he asked Gwaine, watching with consternation as Kieran missed his mouth with a piece of bread because he was too busy staring at the king in adoration.

"Oh, you know, the whole spiel – you're safe now, we're knights, no, no need to say 'my lord', just call me Arthur, we'll protect you from the bad guys, bla bla." Gwaine wolfed down his breakfast as he spoke.

Merlin lowered his voice. "And who, exactly, are the bad guys in this scenario?"

Gwaine paused, giving him a sidelong look. "Funny you should ask. The princess tells us Kieran here is a merchant boy whose parents died. Don't know why he bothers, we're not blind. The boy is a noble, and I'd bet my last drink that someone is after him."

Merlin hummed in agreement, thinking that whoever they were, they had gone to extraordinary lengths to get rid of a child. He still didn’t understand how Kieran could have crossed the veil, alive, and made it out without injury. All the concerns he had dismissed around the appearance of the bear now seemed more pressing; there had to be magic involved in this, and not any he had encountered before.

As they were packing up to leave, Kieran approached Merlin nervously.

"Arthur says you found me," he said. He spoke with an unusual accent – somewhat Northern, like the villagers they had visited yesterday, but with a hint of something stilted and more foreign.

"I did," Merlin gave his best wide smile and saw the boy relax. "Good to see you back on your feet."

Kieran lowered his head, then seemed to remember what he had come to say. "Thank you," he said, enunciation suddenly very formal. "For bringing me back."

The phrasing made Merlin take a second look at the child.

"Kieran," he said carefully. "Do you remember where you were, before I found you?"

The boy dropped his gaze. "A little," he mumbled. "I… had a bad dream." He stopped, shuffling his feet and glancing back at Arthur.

"How did you get to – the bad dream?" Merlin asked, with a quick glance around to make sure they were not being overheard.

Kieran jumped, and stared at him.

"It's ok," Merlin said softly. "I won’t tell anyone."

He waited while the boy pulled at his tunic with his hands, clearly uncertain, and wondered whether he would get an answer.

"There was a man," the words tumbled out of Kieran's mouth. “He had a – a red butterfly. Here.” Kieran placed one hand over his collarbone. “He sent me to the place with the dead things.” The boy stumbled on the last words, and suddenly looked alarmed. “I meant, to the dream.”

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said, quickly. “I saw them too, the dead things.”

"You did?" For a split second, Kieran looked at Merlin with awe akin to that which he had previously reserved for Arthur.

"I did," Merlin affirmed. “They scare people, so they don’t like talking about them.”

“That’s what Arthur said, when I told him.” Kieran nearly spoke over him in his eagerness.

"Well, Arthur is right," Merlin said, thanking the heavens that the king had actually handled the situation rather well.

Kieran rode with Arthur, who took a detour into one of the villages, leaving them waiting on the outskirts as he rode in with the boy alone, spoke to a few people on the street, and was promptly led away to someone's house. He came back nearly an hour later, Kieran nowhere in sight.

"He'll be safe here," he said, by way of explanation. "Let's go."

Mordred, having ridden with Elyan all day, pulled his horse alongside Merlin's as they started back into the mountains.

"He must have been from a court," he said.

Merlin hadn't thought of it but nodded, then shook his head as he remembered Kieran's speech. "I don't know. Did you hear his accent? He didn't sound like he grew up in a court."

"Maybe not," Mordred acknowledged, and sighed. "We are probably better off not knowing. Arthur believes him safe, and that is good enough for me."

Merlin gave him a look of surprise. He had never heard Mordred defer to Arthur's judgement, especially when he was well aware that Arthur didn’t know the full story. Then again, he had never heard Mordred disagree with the king either. It made him wonder just how much the former druid kept to himself.

Mordred met his gaze, and Merlin was transported back to them sitting on the fallen log, shoulders touching, their secrets like a chasm between them. He looked away, remembering what Mordred had asked him, before they had been interrupted.

"I haven't forgotten," he said quietly. "Let's talk back at Camelot. This isn't the right place and time."

He heard Mordred sigh. "I'll hold you to that, Emrys." His voice carried a note of warning.

Merlin wished that he hadn't chosen that very moment to remind him of the name the druids and their prophecies had picked for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Nearly a week later, Merlin served dinner for Arthur in his chambers and thought it safe to broach the topic.

"So the boy we found in the woods," he started casually, checking Arthur's reaction to gauge whether or not to continue.

"What about him?" Arthur looked reluctant but not unwilling, which Merlin took as an invitation to pry.

"Did you tell the villagers who he really was?"

"And who is that?" Arthur countered.

"I don't know," Merlin admitted. "Looked noble born from the dress, but he didn't sound like one." He decided to go out on a limb. "Why else would someone want him dead though?"

Arthur seemed torn for a moment, and Merlin watched in trepidation as he frowned down at his desk.

"This doesn't leave this room," he finally said; clearly his desire to put Merlin right had won out over his concern that he might gossip.

Merlin nodded sagely.

"Kieran is a bastard of the royal bloodline of Cendred, fathered by one of his brothers. He was introduced to the court recently. That’s all he could tell me – but I have no doubt that his presence meant to stir up conflict around the succession to the throne, and made Cendred very nervous. He has yet to name an heir – though word has it Cendred’s latest mistress is expecting a child. Cendred would have wanted to eliminate any competition in line for the throne."

"Then why didn't they just kill him?" Merlin asked. "Why send him…" He caught himself. Arthur still believed the boy had been dropped off in the forest to die.

"I don't know," Arthur confessed. "I can make no sense of it. Cendred is ruthless – he would not shy away from killing a child. Maybe he gave the task to another, and they couldn't bring themselves to do it. We found him such a long way from Cendred’s kingdom– " He shook his head. "He had no memory of getting there. He kept talking about having been with the dead, and who knows what he experienced to believe that."

Merlin tried to take a mental note of everything Arthur had said, thinking of what Kieran himself had told him. There were still gaps in the story, but no way of asking for more information without betraying what he knew.

"So what will you do with him?"

"Nothing." Arthur leaned back in his chair. "There is nothing to be done. I am not foolish enough to bring him into the court and provoke a political conflict with Cendred. He will live a normal life in that village, hopefully a happier one than he had before."

Merlin felt a swell of pride. "Not many people would do that," he said.

"Of course they would," Arthur countered, dismissing Merlin’s praise. "Why use a boy's life to start a war that isn't in Camelot's interest?"

"That's not what I meant," Merlin said. "Not many would think that a child with royal blood could live a happy life in a small village."

Arthur turned and looked at him, eyes narrowed. He paused. "Are you having one of your… not wise moments, Merlin?"

Merlin grinned. "I wouldn't know, Sire, I'm just a lowly servant."

Arthur laughed, short and sharp, his eyes not leaving his manservant’s face. "Leave the drink," he gestured, as Merlin was about to clear the pitcher and glasses from the table. "Gwen is joining me."

Merlin balanced the empty dishes as he reached for the door handle. "Good night, Arthur."

"Good night, Merlin."

He ran into Gwen on his way to the kitchens – nearly literally, as he rounded the corner at top speed and stopped just short of crashing into her. She avoided the empty plates with a practiced sidestep, then frowned at Merlin’s harried appearance.

“Late for something?” she asked. Gwen had swapped her usual royal attire for a simple, light brown dress. Her hair curled loosely around her face and shoulders; she had been growing it out recently, and it made her look younger than the strict up-does she wore in public.

“No, just…” Merlin tried to wave his arm but stopped when he realised he didn’t have a free hand. “Just bringing these back.” He grinned. “My lady.” He went for a half bow, but Gwen grabbed him by the shoulders before he could finish it.

“Will you stop that,” she protested in an agitated whisper, forcefully righting him while looking around the empty hallway. “It’s bad enough having Maisie bow to me all day long.”

“Oh, how has Maisie been…?” Merlin stopped at the look on the queen’s face and grimaced. Gwen’s latest maidservant – after her first one had to leave following a death in the family – seemed very sweet, and had been recommended for her outstanding work as a seamstress despite her young age. However, in a turn of events that no one could have anticipated, she was terrified of Gwen, and the more so the kinder the queen acted towards her.

“She has been great, really, she just… worries about getting things wrong,” Gwen replied, in a rush, and then caught herself, looking faintly horrified. “I’m so sorry. I must sound awful complaining about her. She really is lovely.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Arthur complains about me all the time.”

Gwen looked conflicted for just a second, then narrowed her eyes at the servant. “You _do_ insult him a lot, Merlin.”

Merlin nearly dropped his plate in surprise and Gwen burst into giggles, the hushed, contagious kind they used to share back when they served at big dinners, where Merlin made fun of the nobles and Gwen tried to pretend she couldn’t hear him.

She caught herself all too soon. “I should go,” she said, apologetically, once again looking around the empty hallways.

“Me too,” Merlin agreed reluctantly, reminding himself that he had been rushing for a reason. “Speak – soon?” he asked, feeling guilty even as he said it – they barely ever had time to talk these days.

Gwen smiled sadly, clearly thinking the same thing. “Of course,” she agreed nevertheless.

After leaving the kitchen, Merlin continued down the staircases towards the archives, as he had every evening since their return to Camelot. After his conversation with Mordred, he realised that he had never actually thought to _research_ prophecy. It somehow seemed stupid to – after all, he himself had seen plenty of visions, and knew well enough what they looked like – but once he thought about it, he didn’t really understand the purpose of prophecies. _Why_ give someone a glimpse of the future? Was it a warning? A form of punishment? What was he _supposed_ to do with the information?

Luckily, though the archives didn't turn up much by way of books about magic, prophecy was deeply woven into lore about the kingdom and its history, as well as accounts from bards. Merlin could even enlist the help of an enthusiastic Geoffrey without breaking any laws (seriously, Merlin didn't understand why more people didn't access the archives – they held so much _knowledge_ ), and had, as a consequence, been recommended at least a dozen books "as an introduction". Without Geoffrey's involvement, he had also visited the hidden chamber he had once discovered, and tracked down two tomes on famous seers.

What he had learned so far was… interesting.

Scholars disagreed substantially over the accuracy and usefulness of prophecies, citing their obscure wording, continued re-interpretation and embellishment as they were passed on through word of mouth. Some even argued that prophecies were entirely self-fulfilling, forcing their recipients to run straight into their fate while trying to avoid it, which they would otherwise not have done. He was now reading a collection of what mostly seemed like cautionary tales, specifically a story about a duke who was forewarned that he would be betrayed on his 31st birthday.

_…The duke grew suspicious of everyone, even those closest to his heart. In his fear and doubt, he became convinced that his young wife was plotting to kill him, and though she proclaimed her innocence, he had her publicly executed. On the day of his birthday, a druid visited the duke, a druid known for his great knowledge of the future. The duke boasted how he had thwarted the fates, telling him of his wife’s plot, which he had stopped from unravelling. The druid, greatly saddened, revealed the true wording of the prophecy to be thus: “And on his one-and-thirtieth birthday, the duke’s true character will be betrayed”. Horrified at what he had done, the duke hung himself the very same day, fulfilling his fate._

Merlin shuddered and pushed the book aside. All of this hit too close to home. How many times had he made the visions about Morgana happen, in an attempt to stop them?

Yet the more he read the dissenting views, the more he found unequivocal agreement on one thing: true seer's visions _always_ came to pass. Seers’ gift of foresight was considered a curse by many, as they were forced to stand by and watch events unravel, doomed to bring about the very catastrophes and deaths they wanted to stop if they interfered.

Merlin groaned and buried his head in his hands. He kept coming back in the hopes of finding _some_ mention of a true vision averted. Yet the pile of books was growing smaller and Merlin was more and more certain that no such account existed.

It didn’t make sense. Kilgharrah had entreated Merlin to follow his destiny as if Merlin had a choice about it, and might abandon it if not convinced otherwise. Kilgharrah had told Merlin to kill Mordred _to stop a prophecy_. If the dragon had believed it to be a true prophecy, how _could_ Merlin prevent it? Why would he risk Merlin making it come to pass? If nothing he did could change the future, why had the dragon intervened at all?

Merlin closed the book he had been trying to decipher as the thought sank in. Kilgharrah had told Merlin about the prophecy to make him kill Mordred, and this action alone had turned them into enemies. Kilgharrah had recited, over and over, the prophecies about Morgana, making Merlin distrust her before she ever harmed anyone. Kilgharrah kept telling Merlin to make sure the prophecies of him and Arthur would come true, and Merlin lied to Arthur every single day for it.

And yet, from what he had read, nothing he did could stop fate.

Geoffrey found Merlin an hour later, books forgotten all around him, staring into nothingness in the last of the candle's flickering light. He waved away Merlin’s profuse apologies as he gathered the books for reshelving. "Sometimes, all the books in the world cannot replace thinking," he said kindly, tapping his head.

Merlin smiled grimly. He knew what to do.

~~

Merlin stifled his third yawn since the council meeting had begun not five minutes ago. The late nights in the archives caught up with him whenever he stood still for too long. He shook himself and tried to concentrate on the discussion, only then noticing that Gwen was watching him. He smiled at her sheepishly, indicating without words that he was fine. When she nodded and turned away, Merlin took the opportunity to observe the queen in turn. Their run-in yesterday had reminded him how much he missed her warm, no-nonsense attitude. Since being raised into royalty, they…

_She looked like she was born for it._

The thought came unbidden; Merlin had heard many people speak those very words – it had become a byword of Gwen’s name, uttered with pride by those that were familiar with her past station. However, anyone who actually knew Gwen could tell that she struggled far more than she let on. Some of the older councilors, who had served Uther back in his day, had perfected the art of undermining her authority without saying so outright, through subtle implication and looks whenever she spoke. Gwen held her own, never rising to the challenge, never complaining, but Merlin could tell it was wearing her down.

The word "sorcery" reached his ears and he suddenly felt completely awake.

"How so?" Arthur was asking.

"Our informant tells us that the mistress' pregnancy was a difficult one – there was always a high chance of a stillbirth. Cendred engaged a necromancer in his court who swore he would ensure the child lived. Evidently, he failed."

"Even Cendred should know better than to meddle with such magic," Arthur shook his head.

Sir Lucan, who had spoken, swallowed visibly. Red-cheeked and sandy-haired, he was the youngest on the council, having replaced his ailing father, and made up with earnest eagerness what he lacked in confidence.

"Is there anything else, Sir Lucan?" Gwen prompted, and Sir Lucan immediately lowered his head in a show of gratitude.

"My Lady, it is only a rumour, but having been banished by Cendred, the sorcerer is said to be searching for Morgana, to join forces with her."

Arthur and Gwen exchanged a grim look, and Lord Oweyn, seated to Arthur’s right, leaned over to murmur something to his neighbour, Lord Faramond.

"I see," the king said, silencing the whispers with a look. "We may have to expect new tactics from her. Though if we are lucky, this sorcerer's overconfidence is the rule rather than the exception."

"Do we know anything more about this man?" Gwen asked.

Sir Lucan admitted that he did not, and Lord Faramond pursed his lips in clear disapproval. 

"Find out what you can," Arthur instructed.

With that, the conversation went back to the Northern villages.

Merlin finished his chores that day in a tired daze, using magic where he could to save time. The news about Morgana's latest potential ally nagged at the back of his mind, the last piece of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. He returned to the physician's quarters but told Gaius he couldn't stay for a proper dinner.

"I barely see you anymore, my boy." Gaius' searching gaze pierced right through Merlin's cheerful front. "You will talk to me if you need help, won't you?"

"I will," Merlin promised, shoveling a few spoonfuls of stew as he grabbed a piece of bread and cheese to eat on the way. "Can we talk tomorrow? I need to tell you some news about Morgana."

"If you are sure it can wait," Gaius called after him. Merlin heard him mutter to himself as the door swung shut behind him. He would get an earful tomorrow for rushing off, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Gaius where he was going. He knew his mentor would disapprove.

To Merlin's surprise, he found Mordred's chambers dark and empty. With no guards in sight, he carefully let himself in, feeling uneasy intruding, even though as a servant, he should be perfectly used to entering other people's chambers.

He looked around, curious.

For some reason, he had expected Mordred's chambers to look different, and give some indication of his druid past. _Did you think he would paint magical symbols all over the walls?_ Merlin chided himself. Anyone could walk in here. Of course the room looked perfectly ordinary, like any other knight's.

Shivering against the chill, Merlin headed for the fireplace and added some logs to it. He did spot a difference then – Mordred had moved his rug, made from a thick pelt, in front of the fireplace rather than keeping it by his bed. Merlin sunk down onto it. “Forbærne”, he whispered and the fire caught straight away, sending a rush of heat his way. Threading his fingers into the soft carpet, Merlin could feel faint traces of magic. He wondered if Mordred had done this before – lit his fire by magic, and sat here the way Merlin now did. Would he feel safe enough to use his magic here? If Merlin hadn't been so caught up in the prophecy, maybe he would have asked. He stared into the flames, the warmth sinking into his bones, the familiar feeling of magic around him adding to the comfort. He may as well rest until Mordred returned.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin woke up to someone calling his name. "Hnnngh," he muttered. He had only just gone to sleep, surely it couldn't be morning yet?

He heard a chuckle that sounded distinctly unlike Gaius and sat up with a start.

"Good evening," Mordred said, sitting cross-legged on the rug next to him. Merlin stared at him, then at the fireplace next to which he had been sleeping. He let out a groan.

"I didn't mean to-" He stopped, trying to sort through his memory of how he got here, but he never finished his sentence because Mordred started laughing and it was one of his _real_ laughs, leading Merlin to abandon his train of thought and watch him, committing it to memory.

"I have certainly had people go through my room before, but no one has ever fallen asleep in the process," Mordred said, once he had caught his breath.

"I wasn't going through your room!" Merlin protested. "I thought you would be in, but you weren't, so I… waited." His cheeks burned and he tried not to think about what the other man must have thought, finding him curled up in front of his fire without an invitation.

Mordred was looking at him, amusement now mixed with puzzlement. "You came to see me?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer, but continued, "Gwaine tried to drag everyone to the tavern. Well, he succeeded, but only as far as the door." Mordred grinned, but this time, it didn't reach his eyes, and Merlin realised then that the knight was afraid of Merlin’s answer.

"You thought I wasn't going to keep my promise," he said.

Mordred fidgeted. "You were avoiding me," he said softly.

"Was I?" Merlin thought back, but the days since their arrival back were a blur of chores and late night reading. "Not intentionally."

He looked to the window, at the dark night sky. "I can come back tomorrow if you want to rest," he added reluctantly.

"No," Mordred said immediately. "We can talk now." No trace of a smile showed on his face anymore. "I think I deserve an explanation, Emrys."

Merlin winced. "Don't…" He shook his head and stopped himself. He wasn't in a position to make requests.

"What," Mordred challenged. "Don't call you by your name?"

"It's not my name," Merlin said, no heat in his voice. "It doesn't matter. You have every right to be angry at me. I am surprised you didn't expose me to Arthur the second he knighted you."

There was a pause.

"I thought about it," Mordred admitted, quietly. He uncrossed his legs and pulled his knees towards his chest. "And I am not proud of it," he added. "I never thought I would betray one of my kin – well, I guess that ship sailed when I stabbed Morgana." He met Merlin's eyes. "I knew Arthur would never have believed me. And after a while-" He shrugged. "You clearly still didn't trust me, but you weren't trying to kill me anymore."

_Gods._ Merlin closed his eyes in shame, knowing that he deserved every one of Mordred's low opinions. He took a deep breath.

"I am not expecting you to forgive me," he said. "This isn't an excuse, I just – I never wanted you dead. I never wanted to not trust you, and I shouldn’t have listened to anyone who told me otherwise."

Mordred's eyes blazed with questions, but he didn't interrupt.

"I wish I could go back and fix it." Merlin laughed humorlessly. "Quite a lot of other things, too, while I'm there."

He couldn't bring himself to look at Mordred as he continued, and stared into the fire instead.

"I'm probably breaking some sort of law of magic by telling you this." He smiled wryly. "But I know why the druids hated you, because it's the same reason I tried to kill you."

He met Mordred's gaze. "And it's nothing you've done," he added quietly. "It's something you _will_ do."

Mordred sat motionless for a few seconds, then exhaled slowly. "I was wondering if there was some kind of prophecy about me. Maybe that I'll join forces with Morgana." He looked at Merlin, calculating. "But I didn't think _you_ would kill me for that."

The casual mention of a prophecy took Merlin by surprise; he hadn't expected Mordred's guess to hit so close to home. He hesitated. What if he let Mordred believe that the prophecy just said he would join Morgana?

_It wouldn't even be a lie_ , his mind supplied.

_Shut up,_ Merlin told it firmly, and, out loud: "It does say that you will join Morgana. I suppose that has already happened – but that's not all it says."

He gave Mordred a hard look, trying to convey just how much he meant his next words. "I will tell you if you ask me to. But I am certain that you will be happier if I don't." He swallowed. " _Please_ think about it first."

To Mordred's credit, he heeded Merlin's request. He paced his chambers, absent-mindedly checking the door was locked, opening and closing the wardrobe, circling the bed, and finally coming to a stop by the window.

Merlin stayed where he was. He still half expected to wake up in his room and find that he had never spoken to Mordred at all; the whole conversation felt like a dream. _Was he really so used to lying that telling the truth didn't feel real?_

Experimentally, Merlin stoked the dying flames in the fireplace with his magic. His heartbeat sped up in fear – even here, behind closed doors, on a rug that still held traces of the magic of the man standing in front of him. _Clearly this truth thing is going to take practice._

"What made you decide to stop lying to me?" Mordred asked, his back to the window, watching the fiery lines Merlin had drawn.

"I realised there was no point," Merlin answered honestly. "Supposedly prophecies come true no matter what we do, so why spend my time fighting you when I don't want to?"

Mordred frowned. "You said others told you to kill me. Did they tell you it would change the prophecy?"

"They…" Merlin hesitated, still conflicted about Kilgharrah's influence on him. "I suppose they made me believe I could. I thought I could change what happened to Morgana, too." His voice became bitter. "If anything, I made her what she is now."

"I doubt you can take full responsibility for that, Merlin." Mordred walked back towards the fire, still staring at the disintegrating patterns now merging back into the flames. "Who told you about this prophecy? You realise they may have lied to you."

"They could have," Merlin acknowledged, thinking again of the dragon. "But I have seen it for myself."

This garnered him a look of surprise and Merlin clarified: "A seer shared their vision with me."

Mordred nodded stiffly and started pacing again. "I suppose the druids would not have felt the way they did unless they were certain," he said. Merlin could tell he had been hoping to hear otherwise, and couldn't blame him.

"You realise," Mordred told him a little while later, pacing again, "that there is no chance that I will walk away from this without knowing."

Merlin looked at the floor, hands unconsciously patting the rug down where his body had disturbed it. "I know," he said quietly. "I would do the same."

"Do you really think I will be so much worse off, finally understanding why much of my life has gone the way it did?" Merlin was struck by the amount of hurt in Mordred's voice.

"You shouldn't care so much about what I think," he said before he could stop himself.

Mordred sank back down onto the rug next to Merlin.

"Well, I do," he replied, challenge in his eyes. "So tell me."

Merlin didn't rise to it, and instead considered his words carefully. As much as he didn’t want Mordred to have to live with the knowledge of his future, there was more to it than that. He thought of the stories he had read, of all the people trying to run from their fate.

"If, before I came to Camelot," he finally said. "Someone had shown me a vision of- of my worst moment." He fleetingly wondered which one he would pick to fit that description. "I would not have come here. I would have been too terrified." He looked at Mordred, willing him to understand. "The thing is, I _needed_ to. And as much as I wish I had done things differently… if I had never set foot in Camelot, they would be much worse."

He didn't often seriously acknowledge it, but he knew that without him, Arthur would be long dead. Uther probably would have died sooner, too, and Morgana may never have had the chance to tell anyone of her visions. Magic would have torn the kingdom apart – maybe with Nimueh at its helm, maybe someone else. He wondered what would have happened to Kilgharrah. Maybe his father would have fought with him, wreaking destruction by Nimueh's side.

Merlin tore himself away from that particular train of thought and found Mordred watching him thoughtfully.

"You know," Mordred said. "I never thought that you might regret any of your choices. You always seemed so… purposeful." He smiled softly. "Or maybe I just heard too many stories about the great Emrys when I was growing up."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. He hated the thought that Mordred expected him to be someone more than he was. Mordred laughed at his reaction.

"You forget who you are talking to, Merlin," he said. "I am well used to accepting feats and downfalls through prophecies the same way I would the colour of a person's hair. But there is a reason I became a knight too, and chose to follow Arthur." He paused, looking for the right words. "I believe that everyone has to earn respect the hard way, no matter their birthright or destiny. The druids would treat you like royalty just for a name, but I won't."

"Then you should hate me, not ask my opinions." Merlin said, finally voicing the 'why' that he had refrained from asking earlier.

"For how you treated me, maybe," Mordred answered. "But I am not blind, Merlin. I can see how much you have sacrificed for the kingdom. Not many men with power like yours would be content with the lot of a servant, happy to fight from the shadows."

Mordred stood up then, determination setting on his features. "I know the risk. It might plague me for the rest of my life, but if you don't tell me the prophecy, I will never stop wondering, and dreading what it might say." He paused. "I promise that I will do my best to continue on as if you had not told me."

Merlin scrambled up from the rug, nearly losing his balance as his legs protested his sitting on them for too long. He faced Mordred. "Ok," he said simply. "If you're sure."

Mordred looked surprised, as if he had expected him to argue, but nodded. "I am."

_No long explanation,_ Merlin told himself. _Just tell him_. He swallowed.

"You are going to kill Arthur."


	6. Chapter 6

Mordred staggered as if dealt a physical blow.

"No," he said.

Seconds passed, time slowing as Merlin helplessly watched the pain on Mordred’s face, denial and horror chasing each other.

"I would never," Mordred whispered. "There must be-" He stopped and took a deep breath. Merlin could see his hands shake as they clenched into firsts and loosened again, over and over, grasping an invisible support. “You have seen it. It’s definitely me?”

“Yes,” Merlin said softly.

"Why? Why do I do it?"

"I don't know," Merlin whispered.

"What _do_ you know?" Mordred asked, voice turning cold and face hardening.

"You run him through with a sword during battle. That's all I saw." Merlin didn't give any more detail. He visited the blood-bathed field often enough in his dreams, he didn't need Mordred to have nightmares about it, too.

"That makes no sense," Mordred snapped. "Arthur is a much better swordsman than me, I would never best him."

Gaius had once explained to Merlin that when dealing with patients who had experienced the loss of a loved one, they would sometimes try to argue their way out of the event, finding reasons why it couldn't have happened. "Whatever you do," he'd said, "Don't argue back. They will accept it when they are ready."

Merlin wondered whether the same applied to accepting the worst about one's own future.

"I don’t believe you. This whole charade about how much you regret your decisions," Mordred spat, eyes blazing, when Merlin remained silent. "Surely the only thing you regret is that you cannot succeed in killing me." Fury had wiped out the pain; he looked ready to lash out at anything in his way. Merlin took a step forward instinctively, reaching out – but Mordred tensed immediately, body quivering like an arrow about to be released. As Merlin stood frozen, uncertain, a memory of Mordred’s earlier words sounded in his mind.

_You can't hide yourself if you reach out to someone's magic with yours._

Merlin cautiously raised one hand and allowed the smallest tendril of his magic to cross the gap between them and brush against Mordred, proving his words wrong, reminding him that he didn’t hate him, and why they were having this conversation in the first place.

Whatever reaction he had expected, this wasn’t it – Mordred raised the palms of both his hands and _drove_ his own magic into Merlin, completely unfocused, shoving Merlin backwards as he was flooded with emotions. Rage. Anguish. Guilt. But underneath that, a painful longing, for Merlin to _care_ , to trust him-

Merlin pushed off the magic, parting it like a wall of smoke; it went easily. Mordred stood rigid before him, hands still raised, chest rising and falling rapidly. They stared at each other for long seconds. Then Mordred slumped as if the fight had gone out of him, and Merlin caught him as he stumbled forwards, pulling him into a tight hug.

“I know you don’t want this,” Merlin whispered. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He felt more than he heard the sob escape Mordred; his shoulders trembled as he returned the embrace. No chainmail separated them this time, and Mordred’s body molded easily against Merlin's as he held on, letting Mordred mourn what he had lost, and what he would lose.

He didn't know how long they stood like that, unmoving, until Mordred's breathing slowed and matched Merlin's. Merlin had let his eyes fall shut and his chin rest on Mordred's shoulder; soft curls brushed against his cheek with every breath he took. The warring emotions about whether he had done the right thing quietened into the back of his mind; he felt calm in the warmth of Mordred's hug, his steady heartbeat against Merlin’s chest.

Finally, Mordred sighed and carefully extracted himself from Merlin's arms. His eyes and cheeks were red, but the tears seemed to have dissolved his anger. He looked at Merlin openly, his defensiveness gone.

"I understand why you didn't tell me," he said, as if their conversation had never been interrupted.

"Do you wish I hadn't?" Merlin asked.

"No." Mordred didn't hesitate. "I needed to know. Even if it will be hard to live with." He paused. "I will kill Arthur," he whispered, trying out the words.

Merlin looked him straight in the eye. "Yes," he agreed. "One day. Until then, you make your own choices."

Mordred nodded solemnly, the sadness in his face hardening into resolve. "I will," he vowed. Merlin couldn't help the huge swell of pride – he knew this might not be the last time Mordred would shed tears over the prophecy, but he hadn’t expected the acceptance in his eyes, and never in his wildest dreams could he have hoped for the trust that accompanied it.

"You should rest," Mordred said, stepping away, though it looked like it cost him some effort.

"I don't mind," Merlin said immediately. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

Mordred smiled, some of the sadness leaving his eyes then. "I will be fine. I need some time to… process."

When Merlin looked unconvinced, he added: "I won't do anything stupid, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

~~

If anyone had told Merlin a year ago that trusting Mordred was one of the best decisions he would ever make, he would have dismissed them as a lunatic.

As it was, life changed drastically after their conversation, and yet very little that he could pinpoint. Merlin still hid his magic – except behind the locked doors of Mordred's chambers, where Mordred would light the fire with a whispered spell, and Merlin would allow Arthur's armour to float in the air, polishing itself while they talked. The weeks following their conversation about the prophecy, Merlin fell into the habit of checking in on Mordred if he hadn’t seen him for the day, looking for the telltale faraway look that crept over his face when he thought about his future. The first time Merlin refused to leave Mordred alone to his thoughts, Mordred made the mistake of feigning a headache to get him to leave; he woke up the next morning to a draught from Gaius and a note telling him that he was excused from his duties until he felt better. He ignored Merlin all of the next day, but he never pretended to be ill again.

Merlin and Gaius still researched the new magical threats to the kingdom, and how to hold them off – but sometimes, Merlin told Mordred stories of times past.

"What do you mean, you slowed down time?" Mordred interrupted, as Merlin recounted how he had ended up in the position of being Arthur's manservant.

Merlin shrugged. "Just that, I guess."

"You mean, you slowed down the dagger?" Mordred clarified, clearly thinking that Merlin had misunderstood his question.

"Uhm. No?" Merlin gave his best innocent smile.

Mordred just stared. "But that can't possibly – how would you even – you would have to slow it down in the whole _world_ -" He stopped, taking in Merlin's sheepish expression. "Dear gods. You did, didn't you?"

"Not intentionally!" Merlin protested. Mordred laughed, slightly hysterically. "You say that like it makes it better."

Merlin still saved Arthur's life on a regular basis – except sometimes, Mordred helped him. There was that one memorable week where an honest-to-goodness selkie found its way into the main river leading into the city; it left in its wake three drownings, and Arthur insisted on leading the manhunt to kill it. Merlin and Mordred got completely drenched tracking it down, but Merlin would never have been able to herd it back out of the city by himself, not when he was busy holding up a magical shield and keeping his footing on the muddy river bank. It felt good to be able to save the day without another life lost, even one of a creature who didn’t seem to particularly care for humans. Merlin got in trouble for missing his duties that evening and spent a significant part of the next morning mucking out the stables. Mordred came to sit with him during his break, which Merlin appreciated – the smell always stung in his nostrils and clung to his clothes, and he tried hard to ignore it, thanking the gods that he was not a stable boy.

They slowly broke through their habit of lying and avoiding, from long silences to half-finished sentences, to rushed admissions that left Merlin’s chest burning. Mordred, it turned out, could be brutally honest once he let his guard down, but delivered his truths with impersonal detachment that made it hard to know how he felt about them.

“I don’t know how to accept it,” Mordred said to him one evening, not meeting Merlin’s eyes. “I know it will happen. I know it will be me, one day. But I do not see the path leading there, and I think of him as if he were someone else.”

He didn’t say any more, and Merlin had no words to comfort him, so he turned the sparks from the fireplace into butterflies and let them flutter around them until Mordred’s expression softened.

Most of the time though, it wasn't anything more than a smile in the corridors, or a knowing look when Merlin made an excuse to Arthur, or a hand on his shoulder, and the feeling of not being quite so alone.

"I am glad to see you have found a friend in Mordred," Gaius remarked one evening, out of the blue. Merlin nearly spat out his stew.

"You are?" he spluttered. Gaius' eyebrow rose, and Merlin ducked his head.

"My dear boy," Gaius said calmly, "Sometimes, you can be remarkably short-sighted for someone with such talents. Prophecies do not concern themselves with those trivial things that we humans need the most: friendship, love, trust. Would you be able to keep Arthur safe if you were not his friend and did not trust him?"

"More like I wouldn't put up with him," Merlin grumbled, thinking of the king's awful temper after the latest council meeting.

"Well, there you have it. In the end, we make our choices for the reasons that matter most to us." Gaius smiled kindly. "And I can see that young Mordred, whatever his future may hold, counts you among those reasons."

Merlin felt his cheeks warm and hastily looked for a different subject to bring up.

~~

Spring equinox was coming up. Back in Ealdor, Merlin used to love this time of the year: people brightened up after the long winter, work on the fields began in earnest, the few calves and lambs born stumbled around the grazing ground on their long limbs, and Will and Merlin roamed the forests and fields until late, only driven back home by their hunger, never by the lack of sunlight. The world looked brighter and bigger.

It seemed like a lifetime ago now. Inside the castle, the changes of the seasons were marked by work. Festivals, tournaments, banquets – fewer of the latter now that Arthur was king, but spring equinox was still celebrated in its full glory, with several days of dinners leading up to a festival of ribbon competitions, flower braiding and a tournament for children. Really though, it meant more time in the stifling heat of the kitchens, more running along corridors, more preparations of rooms, speeches and awards.

Merlin dragged himself to Mordred’s rooms instead of going back to Gaius’ chambers late at night, sore from carrying plates and clothes up and down the stairs all day.

He strained his ears for any sounds, wondering if Mordred had already gone to sleep, and knocked very lightly.

“Yes?”

Merlin opened the door and slid through the gap, finding Mordred at the window opposite, still dressed. He looked like he had expected someone else; tension left his face as soon as he recognised Merlin.

“I thought you’d gone to bed,” he said.

Merlin joined him by the window and bumped their shoulders together. “Is something going on?” he asked. “You’ve hardly talked these past days.”

Mordred withdrew slightly, in a movement that seemed involuntary.

“It’s not-,” he started, but Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t bother saying it’s not important,” he warned.

The corners of Mordred’s mouth twitched. “No, I suppose I shouldn’t. You have that look on your face.”

Merlin started, caught off-guard by the sudden fondness in the other man’s voice. “What look?” he asked, confused.

“The one that means you’ll not leave until I tell you,” Mordred said, tone teasing. Merlin _hmpf’_ ed in a show of protest, but his smile betrayed him.

“Don’t try to distract me with compliments,” he said.

“I wasn’t really,” Mordred replied, all at once subdued. “I’d just rather not talk about it right now.”

Merlin’s tiredness dragged at him – he couldn’t bring himself to be patient. “Get it over with then, so we can talk about something else,” he grumbled.

Mordred sighed. “Elyan said something the other day. I suppose it just – reminded me.”

“What did he say?” Merlin asked.

“He-” Mordred stopped, and reconsidered. “He said something that made his views on magic very clear. It was only a throwaway comment.” His voice turned bitter. “He said it as if he had thought it a thousand times before.”

Merlin sucked in a breath. Sometimes, he forgot that Elyan and Gwen were siblings. While he had always worried that Gwen blamed magic for her father’s death, and that this belief could only have solidified after Morgana’s betrayal, he had somehow not extended the same thinking to her brother.

Merlin grimaced, wishing he had seen this coming. Out of all the knights, Elyan had always been the most private, and the least likely to participate in gossip, which Merlin assumed was one of the main reasons he gravitated towards the equally withdrawn Mordred.

“I didn’t know that Elyan feels that way about magic,” Merlin conceded. “You are more likely to find out his opinions than me.”

“And how am I meant to have that conversation?” Mordred countered, hands restlessly brushing over the window frame, then clasping in front of him. “There is nothing I can say. We both know the law. According to it, there is nothing wrong with what he believes.” There was frustration in his voice and Merlin knew exactly how he felt. He’d experienced the same frustration nearly every day during his first years in Camelot, back when Uther’s was king; the constant struggle between doing what was right and trying to stay alive. It had taken many years of using magic and getting away with it for him to realise there was just a little bit of room to push the law, if you knew how. Gaius excelled at this even more than Merlin. But Mordred didn’t know Arthur as well as Merlin did, hadn’t been around all the times that the king had looked the other way from those with magic when he could have prosecuted them. Mordred hadn’t yet seen the knights go up against magic, fighting it like any other enemy, with none of Uther’s blind hatred.

“Then don’t have that conversation,” Merlin said gently. “Maybe Elyan won’t change his mind on magic. But he is fair. You have lost your family, and given who they were, he would understand why what he said upset you.”

Mordred stilled. “I can’t tell him I was raised by Druids.”

“Why not?” Merlin shrugged. “Arthur already knows and he is the only one Elyan would tell. Elyan has no reason to believe that you have magic. He won’t blame you for how you grew up.”

Mordred was listening intently, though his facial expression had shuttered. Merlin waited. His body still ached, but his mind felt more awake, now that it had something to focus on.

Finally, Mordred let out a long breath, and nodded.

“You’re right,” he said. “I should try at least, rather than hold a grudge in silence.”

He looked up at Merlin, and laughed at his expression. “Don’t look so shocked. I do actually _want_ to stay his friend.”

“Oh, I know you do,” Merlin replied, still fighting the pleasant surprise of Mordred agreeing with him. “I’m just not used to people listening to me.” The words came out more wryly than he intended – he clearly did need some sleep.

Mordred frowned, but didn’t comment – he seemed to have been jogged out of deep thought and was now eying Merlin critically.

“You should go to bed,” he said, firmly. “Go on. I’ll talk to Elyan tomorrow.”

~~

Merlin had no opportunity to find out whether Mordred had kept his promise – in fact, he barely had time to stop for breath the next day. The weather was glorious and the celebrations well attended; Merlin rushed Arthur from one event to the next, muttering under his breath to remember his schedule and changes of clothes – _formal attire for the dinner and speech later – don’t forget to bring the notes! – chainmail and the nice tunic for the festival – the prizes for the winner of the ribbon competition are in the chest by the back of the tent – remind Arthur not to leave before handing them over-_

He probably looked manic, but it did keep people out of his way.

Finally, lunchtime came around, and Arthur finished smiling and shaking hands and allowed himself to be ushered back to his chambers.

“Maybe I should take Gwen up on her offer to judge the contest next year,” Arthur said wearily, while Merlin lifted his chainmail over his arms. “They all look the same to me.”

“That’s why she wrote the speech for you,” Merlin quipped, and didn’t quite manage to sidestep the towel that Arthur swatted at him.

A knock on the door sounded – Merlin stopped in his tracks, chainmail still slung over his arm.

“Sire? It’s Gwaine,” a familiar voice came from the other side of the door and Arthur relaxed.

“Come in,” he called.

Gwaine didn’t bother with a bow, but he did nod his head in a perfunctory way, indicating he was here on business.

“Sorry to disturb, Sire,” he said, voice just flippant enough to make Merlin doubt the sincerity behind his words. “Sir Lucan has been very insistent to speak to you about a necromancer called Enjorren.”

Merlin straightened, and saw Arthur do the same out of the corner of his eye.

“Close the door,” Arthur instructed. Gwaine’s eyebrows rose and his playful expression disappeared as he complied.

“What did he say?” Arthur demanded when Gwaine didn’t immediately speak again.

“He said he’d sent a bird to an informant. They are in Camelot now, and want to meet with him. Say they know where this Enjorren is.” Gwaine looked at Arthur questioningly. “Sir Lucan seemed to think you would want to go with him.”

“When is the meeting?” Arthur asked, not commenting on Gwaine’s statement.

“At nightfall, Sire.”

Merlin tensed. If Sir Lucan’s informant had come in person, what they had to say had to be sensitive enough for them to not want to risk writing it down.

Arthur considered this for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “Take Percival and accompany Sir Lucan. Enjorren is a potential ally of Morgana’s – if we find out his whereabouts and can apprehend him, all the better, but don’t go without backup.” He paused. “I will be at the feast; come find me if time is of the essence.”

Merlin let out a breath. He really did not want to deal with a last-minute change to the timetable, or have to figure out how to avoid a confrontation between Arthur and yet another sorcerer.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Despite having complained about it loudly and repeatedly to both Gaius and Arthur, Merlin couldn’t help the sigh of relief when George finally took over to serve Arthur during the final banquet. Merlin stumbled back to the physician’s quarters in a daze, the noise of the celebrations ebbing away, and only Gaius’ warning eyebrow stopped him from walking straight to his bed and collapsing onto it. Instead, he sat down for supper with Gaius, then helped him clear up after, half-heartedly lamenting the existence of tournaments, especially those involving children.

“…teaching them that violence is _fun_ , really, never mind that they’re just as much work to prepare as proper tournaments-”

Gaius opened his mouth to interrupt Merlin’s ramble, his expression amused, but he never managed. The door to the physician's quarters opened with a bang and Mordred stood there, gasping for breath.

"Morgana-" he managed to get out and Merlin was on his feet, jacket half over his back. Mordred shook his head and indicated for him to wait, words pouring out in a rush.

"Meeting with Sir Lucan was a trap – Morgana took Percival – sent a message for Arthur to meet her at Isle of the Blessed if he wants him back alive-"

"Oh for the love of-" Merlin bit down a curse. "He's going, isn't he?"

Mordred nodded. "Saddling his horse as we speak."

This time, Merlin didn't bother holding back a swear word. Gaius was already pushing a bag of supplies at him. "Go," he urged, "or you'll lose him."

"He's forbidden the knights to follow him on pain of death," Mordred said, then added reluctantly. "We had to tie up Gwaine."

Merlin laughed despite himself. "Stay, and look after them. There’s no point putting them in danger."

"You know the necromancer may be with her," Mordred said urgently, and Merlin just nodded sharply, with a look at the open door.

"I'll be fine," he said, and headed out, hastily waving goodbye to Gaius.

Mordred jogged to the stables with him, and helped him saddle up another horse – Arthur’s had already gone. Merlin was about to get on when he heard Mordred say "wait" and was pulled into a rough hug.

 _"Be careful,"_ Mordred spoke right into his mind.

"You still have to teach me how to do that," Merlin said blithely, returning the hug. "When I'm back?"

Mordred smiled, clearly appreciating the gesture even if he saw right through it.

"I will," he promised, and helped Merlin into the saddle.

Merlin left the city at a gallop. As soon as he passed the gates, he considered his options. The Isle of the Blessed was about a day's ride away. He should be able to catch up with Arthur, although the king would undoubtedly be riding through the night.

_Why did I not bother learning that transportation spell that Morgause used?_

Merlin focused on maintaining a steady pace and took the shortest possible route – right through thick forest. He concentrated so much on looking ahead with his magic, making sure the ground didn't become too uneven and moving branches out of the way, he nearly didn't notice when he crossed another horse's tracks about an hour later. He projected ahead and found Arthur not far away, taking a path to his left.

He timed it nearly perfectly; he crashed out of the trees just behind Arthur, who had drawn his sword and yanked around his horse before Merlin could say a word.

They stared at each other.

"Sire," Merlin said mildly, as Arthur lowered his sword.

"Merlin," Arthur said, annoyance clear. "Why am I even surprised."

Merlin shrugged. "No idea. _I'm_ not surprised you've decided to go on a suicide mission by yourself."

"It's not a suicide mission," Arthur snapped. "I am getting Percival back."

"You really are a bit of an idiot sometimes," Merlin said affectionately. Arthur gaped at him. "You would have taken me along if you had thought you would return," Merlin explained, and Arthur's mouth snapped shut.

He sighed. "You can't talk to-" He cut himself off mid-sentence. "Just don't slow me down."


	7. Chapter 7

They rode through the night in silence. When Arthur reluctantly suggested to stop and rest the horses, Merlin volunteered: "We might as well get some sleep. Percival is Morgana's bait to get to you, she won't harm him until you arrive."

Arthur refused, but Merlin thought it was less out of pride and more because of his worry for Percival. He sighed. He was worried as well – no matter what he’d told Arthur, Morgana liked to torture even her bait for fun, as Merlin knew first-hand.

They rode on at a slow but steady pace, until the sun started creeping over the horizon, and through his tiredness, Merlin could finally see the Isle of the Blessed beyond the edge of the forest. The path to it sloped down dangerously steeply in places, and they had to get off and walk in more than one part of the mountain.

"I don't suppose you have a plan?" Merlin asked while scrabbling down a particularly rocky part. His voice sounded hoarse after the many hours of not speaking.

"Of course I do," Arthur said. "We get Percival and leave. Preferably after killing Morgana."

Merlin winced as a sharp stone cut into his hand. "All right," he clarified, "I don't suppose you have a _realistic_ plan."

"Shut up, Merlin."

Merlin irrationally wished that Mordred was here, just so that he could roll his eyes at him and see the smile growing behind his grey eyes, the one that made the corners of his mouth twitch. The mental image gave Merlin a pang of something like homesickness.

They left the horses by the shore and boarded the small wooden boat to cross to the island. The last time Merlin had taken this route, he had killed a High Priestess. He somehow doubted today would end the same way.

"Where are they?" Arthur asked in a hushed voice when they arrived at the ruins on the other side.

"This way." Merlin pointed the way to the altar but didn't move. "There are two sorcerers there, Arthur. You have no chance against them. At least let me go in distract them first, so-"

Arthur walked off in the direction Merlin had indicated without a word. Merlin cursed his own idiocy. He should have just knocked Arthur out when he had the chance.

"Welcome, Arthur." Morgana smiled as if delighted to see her half-brother. She shot Merlin a glance of pure hatred by way of a greeting, then turned to the man next to her. "Please meet Enjorren."

The necromancer faced them. Next to Morgana, with her dirtied black dress and matted hair, he could not have looked more out of place. His simple black coat only partially hid an elegant, wine red suit, embroidered in black throughout, with an elaborate metal clasp at his throat, set with ruby red stones. Profile sharp and thin, Enjorren’s features spoke of pride, but also discomfort. Merlin could barely sense his magic next to the storm that was Morgana. This man was not a threat compared to her. But he _might_ be an opportunity.

Merlin took a chance.

"The necromancer from Cendred's court?" he blurted out as if he couldn't help himself, staring at Enjorren with wide eyes. The effect was immediate – Enjorren's focus shot from Arthur to Merlin, taking in his expression with obvious pleasure.

"I was told that you are a man to be feared," Arthur said, throwing a glance at Merlin’s awed face. His careless tone would have made Uther proud. "Cleary, I was misinformed. It seems you are just my sister's lapdog."

Merlin could have kissed Arthur for catching on so quickly. Enjorren's eyes widened in obvious rage, while Morgana failed to hide her smirk.

Arthur turned to Morgana as if he had already forgotten the necromancer existed.

"Where is Percival?" he demanded.

"Oh yes," Morgana waved a hand. Percival floated into view from behind her, unconscious, and held by nothing but her magic. He was bleeding from several cuts to his upper body and arms but to Merlin's relief, none of them looked serious.

"Don't worry, he is just fine," Morgana smiled at Arthur's furious look. She waved her free hand and ropes sprung up from the ground, binding Merlin's hands behind his back – he turned just in time to see them do the same to Arthur.

_She used ropes, not chains,_ he thought. _And she took her time. She feels safe._

"Now that I have you here-" Morgana set down Percival and gently touched her hand to his temple. "Wake up. Go back to Camelot and tell them what you saw." Percival's eyes flew open. Blinking, he took in the scene – Morgana triumphant and Arthur defenseless, bound by ropes. He tried to reach for his king, but his feet seemed to move without his will, taking him away from the scene.

"Go," Arthur said, just before Percival disappeared into the ruins. "Keep Camelot safe."

Morgana laughed. "Listen to you, dear brother. You came to me like a lamb for slaughter, and still you are trying to give orders. What is it with men like you wanting control over everything?"

"And yet he's not the one who tied us up," Merlin muttered sarcastically, just loud enough for both Morgana and Enjorren to hear.

He expected the blow but he still had to hold back a cry of pain when Morgana's magic lashed out at him, throwing him off his feet. It was well worth it – before struggling back up, Merlin whispered a spell to loosen his ropes and felt their pressure ease off. When he managed to get back on his feet, Enjorren was staring after Morgana in alarm. She strode towards Merlin and stopped inches from him. Her eyes made him shiver – as much as he would like to convince himself of it, the anger in them was not born of madness.

"I'm so glad you're here, Merlin," she said softly. "After all, I only require one sacrifice today. Once Arthur is dead, I am sure Morgause will be more than happy to join me in killing you."

The puzzle pieces clicked. Merlin stared past Morgana at Enjorren, at the red stones at his throat, which he now saw formed the eyes of a clasp shaped like a moth. Dread coiled in Merlin’s chest.

"Oh, so _that's_ what you need him for," Merlin said, putting as much contempt in his voice as he could, meeting Morgana’s furious gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see Enjorren, and it wasn't hard to interpret the look on his face. Here Merlin was, a mere servant, scared of Enjorren's reputation alone, and not even remotely afraid of Morgana.

This time, Morgana slapped Merlin, hard, and he winced as the pain burned through his cheek and lip. One of her rings had cut his skin; he felt a trickle of blood.

"Start the ritual," Morgana ordered abruptly, turning away from Merlin as if she could not bear to look at him without killing him – which might just be true, Merlin thought grimly. He risked a glance at Arthur, who raised his eyes in a silent question, staring at the bruise on Merlin's face. Merlin gave him a reassuring nod.

Enjorren was sputtering. "It's early, my Lady, should we not wait-"

"I've waited long enough," Morgana snarled, her magic rising like a coiled whip around her. Merlin suddenly wondered if egging on their animosity was really wise – if Morgana killed Enjorren, they might be in more danger than before.

"Of course, my Lady. Straight away." Enjorren bowed with the practice of someone used to serving those he despised. He approached the altar, rolled up his sleeves, and began to chant.

"Vires venti invoco ad me iuvandum…"

_What the-_

Merlin noticed it before Morgana did, and probably only because she was still avoiding looking in their direction. Enjorren's chant _sounded_ like an incantation, but it… wasn't. Merlin blinked in puzzlement. The necromancer raised and lowered his arms, his voice an imperious boom resounding through the clearing – and absolutely nothing happened. Merlin had seen rituals performed before; they could take a long time if the magic required was complex, but he could always feel their workings from the first word uttered.

"What do you think you are doing?" Morgana shouted over the nonsensical words, clearly alerted by the lack of magic. Enjorren paused, beginning to lower his hands, glancing back at Morgana in fear. "The ritual, my Lady, you-"

"Do you take me for a fool?" Morgana snarled. "Do you think I am as stupid as Cendred, to fall for your little act?" She advanced and Enjorren stepped back, pressing against the altar.

"Open the portal. Now." Morgana's voice left no room for imagination as to what would happen if he did not comply.

With both sorcerers distracted, Merlin slowly moved up to Arthur. He slipped his hands out of his loose binds and started working at the knot on Arthur's, hidden from view by the king standing in front of him in a show of protectiveness.

"I may have an idea," Merlin whispered, as Enjorren, shaking, started assuring Morgana that he held her in the highest regard.

"I'll take it," Arthur murmured back.

Enjorren never finished speaking. He choked, hands going to his neck, where an invisible hand was pressing on his windpipe.

"Might go wrong," Merlin whispered apologetically to Arthur, who only snorted in reply.

"I told you to open the portal," Morgana said conversationally. "After all, what's the point in you otherwise?" She dropped her magical stranglehold on Enjorren, who fell to his knees, gasping for air.

"Now," Morgana continued, as if talking to a small child. "Try again."

Enjorren unsteadily got back on his feet, hand still massaging his throat. Wordlessly, he threw out an arm – _and ripped open the fabric between the worlds_.

Merlin gagged. Enjorren's magic exuded pure _wrongness_. It shouldn't be possible; it went against all of Merlin's existence, jarred him from head to toe, and made him want to throw up his insides.

Through the haze of a pounding headache, he realised he had completely miscalculated. Enjorren was a much bigger threat than Morgana. He had just opened a portal to the world of the dead with the wave of an arm, defying everything that Merlin knew, breaking the balance of magic without even blinking, but most dangerously of all – he had no idea what he was doing. Merlin couldn't comprehend it but it was obvious from Enjorren's face. This was _easy_ for him. He couldn't feel the world screaming in protest. He even thought that he needed to make his magic look more impressive with made-up incantations.

Maybe because, to the naked eye, the portal didn't look like much. Just above the altar, a gap had appeared in mid-air, just big enough for a person to fit through, like a door into an impossible room. It didn't quite look the same as the one Merlin had seen in the forest – that one had felt more settled, more like a natural break. Now, he could feel a cold wind against his skin, and thought he heard muffled sounds, but his head hurt too much to make them out.

Morgana approached the altar, looking hopeful. Merlin winced when he thought of just how desperate she must be to get Morgause back, and just how angry she would be if she failed.

Morgana didn't need any dramatic gestures. She strode over to Arthur and dragged him closer to the altar, then waved a hand at Enjorren to get out of her way. He couldn't move quickly enough.

When Morgana started the incantation, Merlin could feel the intent from the first word. But also, he recognised it – ironically, it had been performed in this very place by Nimueh. A life for a life, though instead of the Questing Beast serving as the link to the world of the dead, Enjorren had brought the world to them.

_This might work_ , Merlin thought, panicking. _I need a plan._ He could stop the ritual through force, of course, and expose himself in the process – but it would be temporary, and Enjorren would still be a danger, with his ability to open portals at will.

_What does the ritual do?_ Merlin raced through his memories. _It binds the sacrifice to the world of the dead, as payment for the life to be restored._

Last time, he hadn't stopped the ritual, he had changed the target. Maybe he could do it less obviously. But to whom?

Merlin felt the first threads of the binding inching towards Arthur – _not Morgana, she would notice, not Enjorren, he definitely would notice, not myself, it would just kill me_ – a thought arose, unbidden.

Edging away from Morgana's line of sight, Merlin pulled the threads of the bindings away from the altar, away from Arthur, and towards himself. He held his breath, waiting for a reaction from Morgana, but she continued her chant without breaking. Merlin felt the first binding creep over his skin and latch on. Arthur shot Merlin a look of confusion, mouthing "plan?". Merlin smiled grimly and mouthed back "wait". As the magic wove through him, his confidence faded. If he was wrong about this, he was about to give his life to resurrect Morgause, leaving Arthur with three dangerous sorcerers and no protection.

But if he was right – Merlin thought of the Cailleach, the ice cold touch of the Dorocha, and the prophecies. He wondered whether he really was ready to find out.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time Morgana opened her eyes again, every part of Merlin had been bound to the altar – he could feel millions of threads tied to his very soul. Morgana raised her arms in a gesture of supplication.

"Morgause, daughter of Gorlois, come to me."

She stepped back from Arthur, towards the portal. Merlin felt her magic flow out beyond the veil, searching for her sister and tying her soul to the altar next to Merlin's. With a look of triumph, Morgana brought her hands together and connected the threads from the two worlds.

For the briefest of moments, Merlin felt magic pulling his soul from his body, towards the veil, felt another soul approaching him from the other side of the portal – then a loud crack resounded through the clearing and at the same time, Merlin's soul snapped back into his body. The threads tore. The altar creaked, and groaned, the crack down its middle widening-

Merlin surged towards Arthur and grabbed his arm.

"Don't let go," he instructed – there wasn't time for more. He pulled Arthur up onto the ledge of the altar and through the portal, pushing with all his might to pass them both through the veil, even though it protested and tried to reject them. Merlin caught a last glimpse of Morgana's mouth opening in a scream before the altar burst into a thousand pieces, and the portal snapped shut behind them.

Merlin kept an iron grip on Arthur's arm as they tumbled to the ground. Slowly, they sat up, and took on their surroundings.

"I have been here before," Arthur said, to Merlin's surprise.

"You have?"

The world had dimmed into shadows. Blurry figures moved through the mist around them, but Merlin couldn't focus on their features, almost as if a wall of water kept them apart. It was cold, but he could feel no wind.

"After the Questing Beast bit me. I dreamed of this place." Arthur peered into the mist. Face-like shapes looked back at them, and for the first time, Merlin noticed that the air was filled with muffled sounds, voices and shouts, but no matter how much he concentrated, he couldn't make out what any of them were saying.

"I think we'd have to be dead to really enter this world," Merlin said.

"Not to complain, but how did you know we wouldn't die?" Arthur asked. He was removing his now loose bindings and patted his side to make sure Excalibur still hung there.

"Because of Kieran," Merlin answered, distracted. His head still hurt and he couldn't be sure, but he thought the faces seemed to be getting more interested in them. A slight tremor started up around them, making it harder to stay upright. Arthur grabbed Merlin's other arm just in time, as the tremor turned into a quake, the world shaking and turning, and then they were being sucked into a tunnel-like void, a magnetic pull speeding them along.

"What about him?" Arthur shouted, gritting his teeth to hold on.

"Really?" Merlin called back incredulously. "You want to talk about this _now_?"

Shapes flashed by faster than he could focus on, voices and screams blending into a loud, senseless roar. The world bent around them, shaped into the invisible chute they were speeding down, with nothing to break their fall. Merlin twisted in Arthur's grip to try and look ahead, but his stomach squirmed in protest and he decided to just hold on for dear life. He thought the tunnel felt brighter now, as if they were approaching an opening-

They were flung out into the sunlight. Blue sky and green grass replaced the grey twilight as they landed painfully in a cold puddle of water and mud.

Merlin groaned. He rolled to get out of the puddle, but ended up sinking into the ground, water running over his chest. He flailed and fought to get to his feet, only to find Arthur already up, one hand on his sword hilt, laughing at him noiselessly.

"Thanks," Merlin muttered, turning to look around. Marshland stretched out around them, and a portal hung above the ground, already growing smaller. A mountain range towered at the edge of the marsh.

"Those are the Andor mountains," Arthur said. He couldn't keep amazement out of his voice. "They are halfway across the kingdom."

"Did you _want_ to be back with Morgana?" Merlin grumbled.

Arthur threw him an inscrutable look. He grabbed Merlin's arm and navigated them out of the marsh without a word. The ground gradually became less treacherous, and after what seemed like hours, they reached its edge – higher and drier ground.

Arthur reluctantly broke the silence. "I have to apologise."

Merlin nearly fell back over in shock. "Sire?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Arthur warned. "You were right. I walked into a trap without a plan, and I put your life in danger. I am sorry."

Merlin grimaced. "I suppose it's too much to ask that you don't put _yours_ in danger so lightly?"

Arthur became stone faced. "I could not just let Percival die at Morgana's hand."

"Nobody asked you to," Merlin snapped. "There are quite a few people who care about Percival, and none of _them_ were rushing off mindlessly. If you don't know what to do, ask for help."

"What help could there possibly have been?" Arthur retorted. "Morgana abducted him to get to me. As you said yourself, none of us can go up against her magic. What choice did I have?"

"Morgana isn't invincible," Merlin insisted. "She is arrogant. She makes mistakes. How else do you think we got out alive?"

Arthur didn't answer. He stared at the speck of grey in the distance – all that remained of the portal they had come through.

"I don't understand it," he finally said. "Magic. I don't know how to fight it. You figured out everything she was doing, and that we could use this… portal, and I don't even know how you knew." Merlin could tell that he hated admitting this.

"Is that really so bad?" Merlin countered, more gently. "That sometimes, you may have to rely on someone else?"

Arthur stared at him. Merlin could tell that this hadn't been the answer he expected.

"You realise you just said that you know more about magic than the king," Arthur tried to joke, unsettled when Merlin just shrugged in reply.

"I guess I do," Merlin agreed nonchalantly, offering no further information.

They made their slow trek back towards Camelot in silence. The marshes were closer than the Isle of the Blessed had been, but without their horses, it still took them well into the afternoon until they saw the castle in the distance. They had found nothing but a few berries and roots to chew on, and Merlin's stomach protested loudly by the time they reached the outer edges of the city. They entered through the Eastern Gate without drawing too much attention to themselves, and once in the city, Arthur borrowed two horses to take them into the main court.

They had barely left their saddles when Gwaine came running towards them, a huge smile on his face.

"Sire! Merlin!" He grabbed both into a hug before Arthur could protest. "Knew you weren't dead," he said gruffly.

"Percival?" Arthur asked, sharply. Gwaine nodded. "Got back not long ago. Rode back without stopping, to warn us. Gaius is patching him up." He frowned. "Said the two of you were going to be sacrificed by Morgana?"

"Nearly were," Merlin said cheerfully and Arthur scowled.

"Keep your voice down," he warned.

Gwaine ignored him. "Glad you got away." He turned to Merlin. "You may want to let Mordred know you are back, he has been insufferable."

Merlin's stomach lurched and a strange thrill ran through his body.

"He needs rest," Arthur interrupted. "We all do. Gwaine – we meet in the council chambers at sunrise tomorrow. Let the others know." He waved at Merlin. "Go ahead. I'll find another servant to attend to me."

Merlin wondered if Arthur was making a point, but was too tired to care. He rushed off to the infirmary to find Gaius, and reassured him he was fine.

"You should get some sleep, my boy. We can catch up tomorrow," Gaius said with a meaningful glance at Percival, who slept fitfully on the patient bed, looking like a giant trying to get comfortable in a cot. "He will be fine," Gaius answered Merlin's unasked question. "He was exhausted from Morgana’s mind control, but healthy."

Merlin left them, disoriented by how brief their conversation had been, and only realised where his feet had taken him when he stood in front of Mordred's room. He had barely knocked when the door flung open and Mordred stood there, wearing a loose linen shirt and breeches, and a relieved smile.

"Thank the gods," he said softly. "Come in."

"Arthur is back too," Merlin said automatically, as Mordred locked the door behind them.

"I didn't think you would return without him," Mordred replied. He took in his appearance, more worried now. "You're hurt."

He reached for Merlin's cheek, stopping just short of touching it. Merlin remembered the bruise Morgana had given him.

"I'm fine," he said, and something in his voice made Mordred drop his hand. "I should-" Merlin stopped himself. He didn't know why he couldn't look the other man in the eye. He wanted to embrace him, tell him everything that had happened, but he suddenly felt very aware of the mud and sweat covering him, and that he hadn't yet confronted what he had found out, during his unplanned journey through the veil. His head still hurt, and his stomach had a thousand knots in it.

"Would you rather be alone?" Mordred asked, gently.

Merlin shook his head, still staring at his drenched boots.

"In that case," Mordred continued, "you should probably use my bath."

This forced a surprised laugh out of Merlin and he looked up before he could help himself, meeting Mordred's smile.

"I probably should," he agreed, and just like that, things felt better.

In unspoken agreement, they used magic to fill the bathtub with hot water. Mordred tactfully found something to do on the opposite side of the room while Merlin undressed and clambered in. He had only had a proper bath to himself once before, when Arthur had been feeling particularly generous and too tired to use it himself. He couldn't hold back a sound of bliss as he sat back in the warm water, shivering violently as heat pushed through his clammy skin.

"This is why people become knights," Merlin declared, watching the water turn dark as the mud slowly uncaked from his skin. He poured water over his face and winced as it touched the cut from Morgana's ring.

"You should really let me heal that, you know," Mordred said, voice unexpectedly close.

Merlin rubbed his eyes dry and found Mordred sitting on the ground next to the bath, looking at him with some trepidation, as if he expected him to bolt any minute.

Merlin sighed, feeling like an idiot for his earlier behaviour. "Ever heard of a necromancer called Enjorren?" Mordred shook his head, and Merlin launched into the story of what had happened on the Isle of the Blessed, from catching up with Arthur, to realising that Morgana wanted to resurrect her dead sister by sacrificing the king.

Merlin had scrubbed himself clean by the time he got to the part of Enjorren opening the portal, and fell silent. Mordred shuffled over to look at the cut on his cheek again, and this time, Merlin let him close it with a whispered spell.

Sensing that Merlin didn't want to continue, Mordred passed him a towel and clean clothes from his wardrobe. He left the room while Merlin dried and dressed himself, and returned with a platter of food.

"Don't think you're getting away with not telling me what happened," he warned. "But you should eat first."

Merlin watched Mordred while eating. "Gwaine said you were worried," he said between bites.

"Of course I was," Mordred replied immediately. "Percival showing up like he did, telling us Morgana had been at the point of killing you when he walked away-" He paused. "I suppose he blamed himself, for allowing her to take him."

"There's nothing he could-" Merlin protested through a mouthful of cheese, and Mordred waved him off.

"Of course not. _We_ know that. But most knights are not used to feeling powerless."

Merlin recalled Arthur's words earlier, out in the marshlands, and understood that Mordred had just described what the king had been experiencing. He couldn't imagine _Mordred_ powerless, but the offhand way in which he had spoken indicated that he knew the feeling first hand, too.

"You look exhausted," Mordred said, interrupting Merlin's thoughts. "You should sleep and tell me the rest when-"

He stopped mid-sentence. Merlin, unused to the fabric of the shirt and feeling naked without his neckerchief, had been rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, while twisting in his chair to grab a goblet of water with the other. When he turned back to Mordred, the knight was staring at the back of his neck in horror.

"What?" Merlin felt his neck, alarmed.

"May I see?" Mordred just asked, face set.

Uncertainly, Merlin turned away from him, and Mordred pulled down the back of his collar. His fingers traced a half circle around the top of Merlin's spine; Merlin shivered as he felt the brush of fingertips against his still damp skin.

"That's a serket scar," Mordred said, tone expressionless.

"Yes," Merlin said. "It's old, I got it years ago." He didn't understand why Mordred's hand lingered on it, or why he seemed disturbed by a small scar.

Mordred laughed softly, taking in Merlin's confusion. "Sorry," he said. "It's just – there were serkets all around the woods of the druid settlement I grew up in, and we found people with wounds like these. Serket venom travels fast. A sting on the neck meant… that we were looking at a corpse. "

Merlin understood his shock now, but felt no better for the reminder. Kilgharrah had healed Merlin after he received that scar. Dragons were powerful magical creatures; much more so than any druid. _But you should have been dead by the time he arrived._ The face of the Cailleach appeared in Merlin's mind, unbidden, and he pushed it away.

"I had… help," he said tentatively, not sure how to explain. They had not spoken about dragons and as far as Merlin was aware, Mordred did not know about Kilgharrah's continued existence.

"You had help," Mordred repeated slowly, as if trying to find a hidden meaning in the words.

Merlin shook his head. "Maybe a story for another day," he said. "It's a long one."

"Of course," Mordred seemed to snap back into consciousness. "You need sleep. I apologise." His eyes were drawn back to Merlin's neck despite his words.

"Mordred. I'm fine." Merlin waved a hand to break the gaze. "Stop fretting." He thought he saw the other man flush as he finally looked away.

"Sorry," Mordred repeated, and Merlin laughed at his lost expression. He stood up and dropped his arm over Mordred's shoulder; the other man turned into the loose embrace gratefully.

"You're welcome to stay and sleep here," Mordred offered. "I can sleep on the rug, I heard it's very comfortable."

Merlin ignored the jibe. "You realise your bed is about three times the size of mine. I won't even notice you're in it." He looked at Mordred suspiciously. "Unless you kick in your sleep."

Mordred laughed. "Not that I know of, but I suppose we will find out."

In the end, Merlin barely noticed Mordred get into the bed. He fell asleep as soon as he hit the mattress.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur spent most of the next day in one of the smaller council rooms, usually reserved for meetings with foreign officials. Merlin shamelessly pressed his ear against the door a few times, but couldn’t make out any voices besides Arthur’s and Gwen’s, so he gave up and went to help Gaius instead.

He didn’t enter Arthur’s chambers until late, after he saw Arthur cross the courtyard to speak to the night patrol. The chambers lay dark and empty, but the telltale signs of new ink spills on the desk and discarded clothes on the ground told Merlin that the king had been here.

With a sigh, Merlin started cleaning up. He scrubbed the table, collected up the clothes, and after a critical look at the dusty window sill, found a damp cloth to wipe down the surfaces. He crouched down to wipe the legs of the desk, and stopped.

The bottom drawer stood slightly open.

Merlin warred with himself for a total of two seconds before curiosity won out. Carefully, he opened the drawer and took out the parchment which sat on top of the pile. His stomach clenched when he recognised the title. Very gingerly, making sure not to damage the pages, he leafed through the contents, looking for a particular page. He let out a disappointed breath when he reached it, and the comment scribbled on the margin. There was no fresh ink anywhere on the page – Arthur had not changed it.

Since Uther’s death, Merlin’s reading and writing had improved quite spectacularly, and it had nothing to do with Gaius’ tendency to make Merlin re-label all the vials in his cupboard. Arthur didn’t trust his councilors very much, as Merlin knew from years of attending him at council meetings. Arthur really only trusted his knights, Merlin, and Gwen, and he rarely ever asked for the opinions of the first two. So when Arthur deliberately left a speech out on his desk after working on it for weeks, Merlin didn’t bother with pretense. He locked the door, sat down, and read it. He briefly toyed with the idea of talking to Arthur about it, but Arthur wasn’t great at taking advice unless he could pretend he hadn’t – so Merlin sighed, grabbed the king’s pen, and annotated the margins of the parchment with a few scrawled suggestions. When Arthur gave the speech the week after, Merlin recognised the changes and smiled to himself.

After a while, Arthur just put his speeches in the top drawer for Merlin to check. The bottom drawer remained locked and, by unspoken agreement, Merlin didn’t mess with its contents. (Merlin was pretty sure Arthur knew he checked it regularly to see what was coming – the key hung in the cabinet, after all – but they never talked about this.)

Arthur had written the first draft of the druid peace treaty nearly a year ago, after his promise to the ghost of the druid child he killed. He laboured over it for three long weeks and kept it in the bottom drawer of the desk. The day that it finally made it into the top drawer, Merlin nearly spilled a goblet of wine all over it. Heart pounding, he had pulled out the parchment that he could previously only glance at, and tried to push down his hope while finally reading its contents.

The first draft had been – better than what Merlin had expected, given Arthur knew very little of druids, and even less about magic. Merlin had tried hard to keep his comments from being too incriminating; there were only so many things he could believably know about. He still wrote so much that Arthur had to use a whole new piece of parchment for the next attempt. (He gave Merlin more chores than usual that day.) They went through three drafts, arguing back and forth on the margins.

_Druids are peaceful. You can’t ask them to fight for you in a battle._

_If they are to be accepted subjects of Camelot, they have to fulfill their duty to the king._

_Ask them for something else._

_What could they possibly give me?_

_Council? Knowledge?_

In the next draft, Arthur had removed the part about fighting in wars.

However, one paragraph had made it through all three versions without any comment from Merlin, because he stared at it every time, pen poised, only to back out and leave it.

_Druids, within their settlements, will be permitted to follow the Old Religion, but may not pass on its teachings to those outside their community._

How could Arthur write this and _not_ see the problem? Merlin kept waiting for it to change, but it never did, every letter a challenge to Merlin.

He stared at the margin now, where his own writing spelled only two heavily underlined words: _Magic ban?_

After writing it, Merlin had spent the whole day terrified, but Arthur never replied. And then, one day, just like that, the parchment had disappeared back into the bottom drawer and Merlin very forcefully polished Arthur’s armour for a whole afternoon, trying not to cry.

_Why was Arthur looking at the druid peace treaty now, of all times?_

~~

It took two days before Merlin could continue his conversation with Mordred.

"Arthur has been behaving strangely," he declared as he let himself into his friend's room unannounced. Mordred barely moved from his desk, a testament to how used he was to Merlin's visits.

"How so?" he asked, like a parent indulging a small child.

Merlin spluttered at the tone. "You saw for yourself!" he accused. "He keeps asking my opinion at meetings and then he _doesn't laugh at me_ when I give it! Maybe he has been enchanted. Or _maybe_ ," he added, warming to a new idea, "Gwen told him to be nicer to me. She works miracles on his mood."

Mordred smiled to himself. "I don't suppose it has occurred to you," he said, "that your recent escape from Morgana has made Arthur more aware of your qualities?" He raised a hand before Merlin could protest. "Not that I would know, since you still haven't told me about it."

Merlin huffed. "Well, you still haven't taught me how to do the mind speak thing," he retorted, aware that he sounded cranky. He dropped onto the empty chair next to Mordred. "I haven't really thought about it," he admitted.

_You haven't really wanted to think about it_ , he corrected himself silently.

"I can teach you tonight," Mordred offered. "And then you can tell me the story through… mind speak, as you call it." He smiled. "The druids call it voice, but that's perhaps less descriptive."

Merlin wavered. He really wanted to avoid the topic forever, but he _was_ tempted by the offer to learn voice.

"Is it – private?" he asked. "Can't other magic users hear you?"

Mordred shook his head. "Not if you don't want them to. There are two types of voice – one is exclusive between two people, and one which… broadcasts, so to speak. It is usually only employed to call for help." He turned his chair to face Merlin. "They might sound similar, but using them is completely different – you would never accidentally switch between the two."

"Ok," Merlin said, reserve breaking. "What do I do?"

"You lock the door," Mordred said dryly. "It's probably not the best thing for someone to walk in-" He stopped as Merlin moved the bolt on the door shut with a glance over his shoulder.

"Right," Mordred said, voice higher than usual. He cleared his throat. "We face each other. The purpose of voice is to create a connection between your mind and mine, the equivalent of a magical tunnel, except it does not open on both ends. We cannot share thoughts through this connection. It's exclusively used to project your voice, one way."

"Why?" Merlin asked. "Wouldn't it make more sense to have a two-way connection?"

"Not necessarily, no," Mordred said. "Two-way connections require both parties to participate in the spell, so you immediately limit who you can voice to. Also, you may end up sharing more than just your words." He grinned. "It's not considered polite to force people to share their feelings magically."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, wondering if Mordred was chastising him for the times when he had reached out to him with his magic.

_"I don't care,"_ Mordred spoke – voiced – into Merlin's mind. _"You can do it with me, just be aware that most people would not be pleased."_

"The best way to start," he continued, out loud, "is with a physical connection." He lifted his arm and placed his hand on top of Merlin's head. "Try running a magical thread along your arm and to my head," he said. Merlin placed his hand on Mordred's curls, resisting the urge to run his fingers through them. He did as instructed, running a thin line of magic down his neck and arm, to the other man's head.

_"Hello?"_ he thought, feeling a bit foolish.

Mordred winced. "Too loud," he said, rubbing his head, waving off Merlin's apologies. "Much easier to work with – most people start too quiet." He took Merlin's hand in his and navigated it to hover just above his head. "Try again," he said, "but this time, bridge the gap, and try not to push with your magic when you voice. The line should be steady no matter whether you are using it or not."

It took a few more attempts before Merlin mastered the second part – he found building the connection easy, whether through air or his arm, but struggled to keep it steady.

" _Good_ ," Mordred voiced, after a few more minutes. " _Now. What happened after Enjorren opened the portal?_ "

Merlin's mind flashed back to the altar, and only when he tried to answer did he realise that he had dropped the line. He groaned.

"You did that on purpose," he accused.

"Of course," Mordred smiled. "You want to get to the point where you don't need to think about the connection to maintain it."

He switched to voice. _"Let's try an easier topic. You've never told me about your family. Who raised you?"_

Merlin concentrated, established the line and answered: _"My mum. Hunith."_ He smiled inadvertently when he thought of her.

_"You got along well,"_ Mordred prompted.

_"Yes,"_ Merlin voiced.

_"Any childhood friends?"_

Merlin thought of Will, and Mordred threw up his arms, leading Merlin to drop the line. "Woah," Mordred said. "You're still sharing emotions. Try to communicate _through_ your magic, not _with_ it, if that makes sense. That way, you can't pass along any other information."

Merlin felt his cheeks warm. His emotions thinking of Will were… complicated.

"Your friend – they died?" Mordred guessed, in a tone that indicated Merlin didn't have to reply.

"Saving Arthur," Merlin replied, adding: "Will _hated_ Arthur. He did it for me." He sighed. "Sorry, I don't think I'm very good at this voice thing."

Mordred raised his eyebrows. "If you must know, it takes most druids weeks to get to this stage."

"Oh." Merlin laughed, feeling both relieved and slightly foolish. "You could have mentioned that part!"

"I didn't want you to slack off," Mordred grinned.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the challenge. He hadn’t missed how enthusiastic Mordred had become as soon as Merlin agreed to let him teach voice, and was determined to get it right. When he next concentrated and established the connection, he followed his intuition and adjusted the shape of the tunnel to narrow towards the end, creating a gateway that would stop any magic from pushing through.

_"Where were we?"_ he voiced, and watched with satisfaction as Mordred beamed at the improvement. Merlin meticulously recounted what had happened during Morgana's ritual, though he gave no explanation as to why he had redirected it towards himself. He had to stop a few times and check that the connection hadn't lost its stop gate, and readjust it when it widened. By the time he finished his story with their escape from the swamp, he barely had to think about it anymore, and could hold it steady while concentrating on the story.

"That was very good," Mordred said into the silence, voice hoarse. "I could barely feel your magic – and the volume was better too."

Merlin wanted to be pleased, but he could tell that Mordred was holding back other, less flattering words. He looked at his knees. "Aren't you going to ask," he said, "why the ritual failed?"

"Actually, I was going to ask what the hell you thought you were doing, risking your life like that," Mordred answered, his voice not betraying any emotion. "But either works. Does this have anything to do with your serket bite?"

"I don't know," Merlin admitted. "Possibly." He looked up. He had never said this part out loud. He built the connection back up.

_"I have tried to give my life for Arthur's, in the past,"_ he voiced. _"Someone else always ended up dying in my place. I wouldn't have thought too much of it, except-"_ He thought of the Dorocha _. "There were other things I survived. That I shouldn't have. And…"_ He gave up and dropped their mental link. "Have you ever heard of the Cailleach?" he asked.

"The Keeper of the Veil," Mordred nodded, surprised. "Why?"

"She told me she wouldn't accept my life because – it wasn't my time." Merlin thought of Lancelot, and his recent suspicion of Kilgharrah's involvement in his death. The dragon had accepted Merlin's choice to sacrifice himself surprisingly easily. Almost as if he had known that Merlin wasn't truly in danger.

"I don't understand," Mordred confessed. "Surely it wasn't Arthur's time either, if she was referring to the prophecies?"

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know. The first time it happened, it was the same ritual as the one Morgana used, but with Arthur's life on the line."

"So you directed Morgana's spell to you, thinking it wouldn't take your life," Mordred said, then shook his head. "I don't think it would be wise to push that strategy, Merlin. It may have worked once, but the Fates don't like to be played."

"They'll need to stop playing with us then," Merlin snapped, suddenly angry. "If they decide what I can and can't do with my own life-" He took a deep breath. "Sorry," he muttered. "Uhm. I should probably be glad. It _did_ get us out alive."

Mordred rested a hand on Merlin's knee. "Whoever did you have these outbursts to before you knew me?" he teased.

Merlin laughed. "Gaius, sometimes. If I'd bottled one up for too long. But it's never worth it, he treats me like a patient afterwards." The mention of Gaius made him remember something. He cursed.

"I promised him I would be back for dinner," Merlin said, jumping up. "I'm late."

"Give him my apologies!" Mordred called after him as he rushed to the door and unlocked it.

"No need, he'll just blame me anyway," Merlin threw back, then stopped in his tracks. "Thank you," he said, hoping he conveyed at least some of his gratitude. The last thing he saw as the door swung closed was Mordred's soft smile.

That night, Merlin lay in bed thinking about their conversation. Maybe he was ridiculous for worrying – was it really so bad if the fates wouldn't let him die yet?

_But when_ is _my time?_ he wondered, unable to rid himself of the nagging feeling that this revelation came with a catch.

He dreamed that he was learning to voice again, but he couldn't keep the connection between them steady. "Why is it not working?" he asked, frustrated, and looked up, but it was Arthur standing in front of him.

"So, Merlin. You think you know more about magic than me," he said, voice low and dangerous, advancing on him. Merlin jumped back and ran, panicked, out of Arthur's chambers, past the guards and through pitch-dark corridors.

"Merlin?" Mordred's door opened next to him, a warm light coming from his room. The knight looked at him with concern. Merlin pushed past him and locked the door behind them, finally feeling safe.

"I think Arthur knows," he told Mordred desperately.

"Merlin," Mordred reprimanded. "I told you not to share your emotions with everyone."

"I'm not," Merlin said, confused. He looked at Mordred's smile, at his shining grey eyes and tousled dark curls, and, unable to stop himself, raised his hand to push them back from where they fell into Mordred's face.

"But you are," Mordred said softly, and kissed him. Merlin gasped, heat rushing through his body, and blindly reached for the other man. He kissed Mordred back desperately, his lips hot against him, their bodies pressed together-

" _Merlin_ ," Mordred whispered, his hands pushing up his shirt, fingers caressing every inch of bare skin.

_Merlin_.

Merlin woke up with a start, heart hammering. He stared around his pitch black room, trying to find who had spoken to him.

_Merlin. I am outside Camelot_. The voice returned and Merlin groaned as he recognised it. _I must speak with you._

Merlin cursed. Kilgharrah never came to find him – this couldn't be good. He groggily pulled on his clothes, and stumbled to the door. The images of the dream which the dragon had interrupted were burned into his mind, and he had to stop halfway through the corridor to lean his head against a cold wall.

_I am such an idiot_ , he realised. How could he not have seen this coming? He had been so focused on telling himself how much he liked having someone to talk to that he had blocked out all of his distinctly non-platonic feelings for Mordred. Of which there were many, he now realised. He thought of the smile Mordred had given him earlier, open and soft, and felt a surge of affection and want. Frustrated, he banged his forehead against the stone. All those times he had shared his emotions via magic – had Mordred noticed? Then why tell him that he was welcome to continue doing it?

_He probably thinks I just care for him as a friend, as I thought I did. As I_ should _._

He could still barely believe that Mordred, the man that Merlin had twice tried to kill, trusted him so freely now. He couldn't possibly expect anything more of him, or risk their friendship. 

Merlin cut off his train of thought, and pushed away from the wall determinedly. He could not afford to dwell on this now. He needed to have a clear mind for when he saw Kilgharrah; after recent events, he trusted the dragon a lot less than he would like to, and he certainly did not want him to know about Merlin's newly discovered feelings for the man prophesied to kill Arthur.

Kilgharrah waited for him in the clearing where Merlin used to call him. He looked like a huge statue, scales gleaming in the moonlight, except if you looked closely enough, you could see his nostrils moving very slightly with every breath.

"Young warlock," he greeted Merlin.

"Kilgharrah," Merlin replied, nodding his head. "What's so urgent?"

"The balance between the worlds has been threatened," the dragon said without preamble, and from this alone, Merlin knew it must be serious. "Someone has been breaking the veil and releasing spirits, without paying a price." Kilgharrah's nostrils flared. "I did not think the witch Morgana capable of this, but the Cailleach assures me it is her, in search for her half-sister."

Merlin could not help but feel amazed. This had to be the first time in his life that he knew something the dragon did not.

"It's not Morgana," he said. "Well, she is involved, I suppose, but she has found a necromancer who can open portals at will."

Kilgharrah stilled. "And what is this necromancer's name?"

"Enjorren," Merlin said, uneasy at his reaction. "He used to work for Cendred. His magic is…"

Kilgharrah lowered his head, to better see Merlin's expression.

"...wrong." The warlock recounted a redacted version of what had happened on the Isle of the Blessed, focusing on Enjorren's role.

"It seems I should have come to you sooner," Kilgharrah said when Merlin finished. "Clearly the Cailleach is pursuing the wrong person."

"You… talk to her?" Merlin asked carefully, theories forming in his mind.

"We are keepers of the world, albeit in very different ways," the dragon said, sounding more like his old cryptic self.

"Right," Merlin said. "Well, she made a mistake – it’s Enjorren she should be after."

Kilgharrah chuckled, and reared his head back up. "The Cailleach does not make mistakes, young warlock. She would have been able to trace Morgana to where the portal was opened, and only Morgana."

Merlin processed his words. “How is that possible? Surely no one can hide from death.”

“No one _alive_ can hide from death,” the dragon corrected. “This sorcerer’s affinity with the world beyond the veil suggests he is not himself entirely in the world of the living.” A glint entered his eye. “After all, the best way to hide from any force in the world is to become part of it.”

Kilgarrah’s words jostled something in Merlin’s memory, just out of reach. He felt like he was about to grasp onto something significant, but he couldn’t get a grip on it. “Then what can we do?” he asked instead.

"Leave it to me, young warlock," Kilgharrah said, baring his teeth in a chilling imitation of a smile. "Now that we know where to look, he will not be able to hide so easily."

Merlin wanted to take advantage of the dragon’s good mood, and didn’t comment – however it came about, he wouldn’t feel any particular guilt over Enjorren’s demise.

"Speaking of escaping death. Do you know why the Cailleach would not allow me to sacrifice my life?" he asked instead.

Kilgharrah's tail swiped across the grass. "Did she not tell you?" he asked, yellow eyes calculating.

"She said it wasn't my time," Merlin told him. "But I don't understand why. It wasn't Arthur's time either, any of the times he nearly died."

"Ah, but Arthur does not have magic like yours. You are bound to the world in different ways," Kilgharrah said, as if this explained everything. "You will understand when the time comes, young warlock."

Merlin started protesting, because at this rate, he would be old and grey before he understood _anything_ , but Kilgharrah spoke over him.

"You must not delay killing the witch Morgana much longer," he warned. "You have had many chances, and allowed her to escape each one. She grows stronger under your leniency."

Merlin flinched. Today really was going to be the day to dig out every subject that he had avoided thinking about.

"I know," he said shortly.

Kilgharrah inclined his head. "Then I shall leave you."

He took off, with Merlin still full of questions, and under the distinct impression that this conversation hadn't gone the way he wanted.

_What else is new_ , he thought bitterly.

Although, he recognised later, as he slipped through one of the entrances in the outer gates, this had to be one of the first times Kilgharrah physically interfered in something. Usually, the dragon watched from the sidelines and complained that Merlin wasn't acting quickly enough – as he still did, when it came to Morgana.

_But I am prophesied to defeat Morgana_ , Merlin realised. _Maybe he can't touch her._ Interestingly, this might explain why Kilgharrah had attacked Camelot, back when Merlin freed him. Merlin had never understood why the dragon would go after innocent people instead of just going after Uther, the man who imprisoned him. _Maybe he couldn't. Maybe it wasn't time for Uther's death yet either, so he hurt him the only way he could – by attacking his people in front of him._

This strange new perspective gave him a headache, but it already made more sense than anything he had come up with before.

Merlin sighed as he realised it would be too late to go back to sleep; the sun would rise in the next hour. He quite wanted to shove all these uncomfortable thoughts – of Kilgharrah, Morgana, Arthur, and now of Mordred – into the back of his mind, but it was getting too crowded there, and he knew that sooner or later, something had to give.

Instead of going back to his room, Merlin climbed up to the battlements and stood there, watching the sky grow gold and pink, and reluctantly confronted one of the many thoughts he had been ignoring for months.


	10. Chapter 10

"I think I can remember three things, _Mer_ lin", Arthur drawled when his servant went over his afternoon schedule a second time. "Go help set up training." 

Merlin grinned. "If you're sure, _Si_ re", he threw over his shoulder as he fled. A goblet hit the door behind him and Merlin laughed. These days, Arthur wasn't even trying to aim for him anymore.

_Not that I want that to change_ , he added mentally. 

"Morning," he greeted Suzie and George, who were already setting up targets and moving equipment around. Suzie gave a good morning back, while George only inclined his head respectfully. Merlin wondered how long it had taken him to perfect that nod. 

" _Good morning_ ," a voice sounded inside Merlin’s head and he looked up to see Mordred walking onto the training grounds with the other knights, deliberately not looking in the servants' direction.

" _Good morning, Sir Mordred_ ," Merlin voiced back, doing his best to infuse the words with sarcasm. He thought he succeeded, and that Mordred's badly suppressed smile had little to do with what Elyan was telling him. Merlin realised with a pang that the two knights had been friendly again, and that they must have resolved their disagreement. Merlin was about to voice a question, but at that moment, Mordred looked over and shot him a proper smile, and Merlin remembered how similar his smile had looked in the dream, just before he had kissed Merlin-

Heart beating fast, Merlin avoided Mordred's eyes and concentrated on moving the last target into the right place. 

_Keep it together_ , he told himself sternly, annoyed at his reaction. _Nothing has changed. He's still your friend, and there is no reason to act any differently_. 

Despite the decision he made up on the battlements, Merlin spent most of the week just getting through the days. He saw Mordred more often than usual, since the knight had been assigned to late patrols and would stay up with him while he did his chores, and Merlin couldn't decide whether the company was worth the emotional confusion Mordred left him in every time they waved, or hugged, goodbye. How had he never noticed how tactile Mordred was with him? He definitely stayed more reserved with the knights, especially compared to Gwaine, but with Merlin, he seemed to always have a casual hand on his knee or shoulder, touch his arm when talking, or bump shoulders when walking. Merlin wavered between simply enjoying what he could get, and feeling guilty about it. 

He is just more comfortable with me, he had to tell himself every time – but that thought alone made his chest constrict with happiness. He _wanted_ that closeness, that trust. He wanted more, too, sometimes so much it hurt not to reach out. But then, what if their physical closeness proved that Mordred definitely did _not_ see him in any romantic light – if he did, wouldn't he be more self-conscious about it?

"I've been thinking," Merlin said to Gaius hesitantly, over dinner that night, "that I should tell Arthur."

The physician put down his spoon with a clunk and looked at Merlin searchingly. "About your magic?" 

Merlin nodded, looking for signs of disapproval.

Gaius sighed. "My boy. Why now?" 

"I can't _do_ anything, Gaius," Merlin said, feeling the same frustration he had felt back at the Isle of the Blessed. "There have been so many times Morgana nearly killed Arthur and I couldn't stop her. If not telling Arthur is putting him in _more_ danger, how can I justify it?" 

Gaius sat in silence for a long time. "What about your own safety?" he finally said. "Magic is still outlawed. I am sure you can find a way to defeat Morgana without Arthur's involvement."

Merlin shrugged. "Let's face it. It will never be safer unless I tell him. There will always be someone like Morgana to make Arthur think the worst of magic, and no one will risk their life to change his mind." He looked at his mentor. "If they did, I wouldn't want them to. I'd want it to be me."

Gaius dropped his eyes from Merlin’s determined face. "I understand," he said heavily. "Even if I rather wish I didn't." He picked up his spoon again, stirred the soup, and put it back down. "I see I am not going to change your mind, but please consider what you will do if Arthur does not react well. Write to your mother. You may need somewhere to go."

The sobering thought of potentially having to flee to Ealdor nearly made Merlin second-guess his decision. What if Arthur had him followed, and his mother had to flee as well? Surely he wouldn't. Ealdor didn’t belong to Camelot – if nothing else, Arthur had no jurisdiction there. 

_But do you know for certain? Uther still chased Balinor beyond Camelot’s borders_. The thought nagged at Merlin later, as he tried to go to sleep. _I trust Arthur,_ he finally thought tiredly, _I will just have to keep trusting him_.

The next morning, Merlin awoke full of resolve. He brought Arthur breakfast and breezed through his morning chores, stood by patiently during the morning council meeting, and accompanied the king back to his chambers afterwards. After many weeks of discussions, Arthur had managed to finalise – despite some of his advisors' best efforts to prevent it – a fairer tax collection system for the Northern villages, which took into account their geography and its challenges.

"I really need to retire Lord Oweyn," Arthur groaned, as soon as the door closed behind him. "As much as I value a dissenting opinion, he is just tedious for the sake of it. He contributes less than the chair he sits on."

"He's awful to Gwen," Merlin agreed – which, to him, really settled the matter. 

Arthur sighed. "And I would like to dismiss every person who has ever said a word against Guinevere, but I need good advisors. He just isn't one of them." 

Merlin just gave him a look, which said _I thought you were the king and could do whatever you want?_ and Arthur raised a warning finger. "Don't get cheeky." 

Merlin smiled brightly in response. He fiddled with the wash basket, which he had been about to take out with him, wavering.

"Yes?" Arthur looked up from his notes and gave him an expectant look, so Merlin took a deep breath and went for it. "I was wondering if I could ask for a favour, Sire."

Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to the parchment. "I'm not giving you a day off, Merlin."

"I don't want one!" Merlin protested. "Really, when have I ever asked for a day off?" 

"Now that's a good point," Arthur replied, energised, brandishing his pen at his manservant like a sword. "You don't ask for days off, you just disappear! How stupid of me to forget."

_This_ , Merlin thought, _is why I never tell him anything. He really is a prat._

"I actually wanted to ask," he tried again, praying for patience, "Whether we could go on a hunting trip sometime. Just – without the hunting."

Once the words were out, Merlin had to admit that he could have phrased the request better. However, there really wasn't any reason for Arthur to be laughing _quite_ so hard.

Merlin stood with his arms crossed, not bothering to hide his annoyance while Arthur regained his breath.

"Well, I never thought the day would come," Arthur finally said, "where my servant would tell me how to adapt hunting trips so that he can enjoy them better. No, no," he laughed off Merlin's attempt to interject. "It's a very reasonable request really. Just remove the hunting." He actually giggled to himself this time. 

Merlin heaved a sigh, wondering why he risked his life to protect this idiot. 

"What I meant," he tried again, with as much composure as he could manage, "was whether we could ride out for a day." He took a step forward, willing Arthur to be serious. "The two of us. Because-" 

Reflexively, Merlin looked behind him to check if the door was still closed. It was only a small movement of his head, the briefest of glances, but when he turned back, Arthur had straightened up in his seat. He wasn't laughing anymore. 

"-there's something I need to talk to you about," Merlin finished, uneasy under the king's suddenly probing gaze. "Something important," he added, meeting Arthur's eyes, trying to make him understand.

"I see," Arthur said. He very slowly and deliberately put down his pen. "And you can't talk to me here?" he asked casually.

Merlin hesitated, not wanting to lie. "I could," he admitted, with some difficulty. "I'd really rather not." He lowered his eyes. "I suspect you probably wouldn't want me to, either."

"You suspect, do you," Arthur repeated.

"Am I not allowed to suspect, my Lord?" Merlin asked, sarcasm returning now that Arthur seemed to be taking him seriously. Arthur snorted. 

"As if you ever cared about what you're allowed to do, Merlin."

He turned back to his notes. "I need to issue the new laws – the gods know it took long enough to get them ready. I will have messengers out in two days. We can go the day after that."

Merlin stared. "Really?" he asked, his voice coming out in a squeak. "I mean," he hastened to say, recovering. "Don't you have that meeting with the ambassador-" 

"I thought you said it was important?" Arthur interrupted.

Merlin swallowed. "Yes," he said. "It is, Sire."

"Well then, I'll cancel the meeting," Arthur said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You do remember that I'm the king, don't you Merlin? I can do what I like." He smirked, daring his manservant to contradict him.

Merlin laughed. "Of course you can, Sire." And then, more quietly, "Thank you."

Resolve gave way to panic very quickly. They would talk in three days. Three days! What had Merlin been thinking?

"What was I thinking?" Merlin said to himself, closing the door behind him and leaning against it heavily.

"I don't know, what _were_ you thinking?" Mordred asked, emerging from the back of his room, half of his armour still littering the floor around him, looking at the unannounced visitor at his door. 

"I don't know," Merlin said, automatically going over to help him get dressed. "I think I've gone mad." Only when he started readjusting the pieces of armour that Mordred had already put on did he realise what he was doing. He started laughing, maybe a little hysterically.

Mordred, who had suffered through being pulled and prodded at without comment, smiled at him with far too much indulgence, then swung an arm around Merlin's shoulder and forced him to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Alright," he said. "I have to go, so you'll have to give me the short version. Without the fretting."

"I don't fret," Merlin protested, but Mordred raised his eyebrows in warning and said: "I will count to ten. That's how long you have to tell me. One. Two."

He got to four before Merlin organised his thoughts enough to blurt out: "I'm telling Arthur about my magic", which caused Mordred to stop counting, but Merlin added "in three days" very quickly anyway.

He took in Mordred's stunned face. "Uhm. I was actually looking forward to it, except now it's much sooner than I thought and – are you ok?"

"Yes," Mordred said, but he looked upset, almost – angry. "I think I am. Anything else you want to spring on me?" 

"I did warn you that I had done something mad."

"Merlin," Mordred said, with palpable frustration now, "the last time you were this upset, it turned out one of the Lords had made a rude comment to the king during lunch. It's hard to tell when something genuinely life shattering is going on, or when you're just being – well, you."

Usually, Merlin would have pointed out that this made no sense, and that surely he was always him, but Mordred’s anger, without any of its usual humour, constricted his chest. Mordred had never been annoyed at him before, not since Merlin stopped lying to him. 

"I'm sorry," he said automatically. "I've been thinking about it for months." 

"Then why didn't you say something before?" Mordred asked sharply. 

Merlin shifted on the bed. "I'm very good at pretending the things I should be thinking about don't exist. Even when I am actually thinking about them." He tried for a smile. "It's a rare talent."

Mordred didn't smile back. Merlin felt a cold trickle of dread run down his back. He looked on helplessly as Mordred walked away from him, over to the window, and threw a glance into the courtyard below.

"I have to go," Mordred said softly. He didn't look at Merlin. "Feel free to stay here if you want. We can talk when I'm back." Everything about his body language indicated the opposite of his words.

Merlin didn't point it out to him. "It's ok," he said, keeping his voice neutral, "I have to go help Gaius anyway. I'll see you later."

He left without a glance back and walked the corridors at a steady pace, smiling hello as he passed other servants. He hurried down the stairs, past the physician's quarters, catching a glimpse of Gaius talking to someone, and took another, even narrower staircase, leading underground. His memory guided him through passages and hidden steps, until he reached the underground cavern which Kilgharrah had once been a prisoner of. 

He hadn't been here since releasing him. Strangely, it looked smaller than he remembered, and darker. 

Merlin sat on the stone ledge by the edge of the pit, staring into the blackness. The coldness had run all the way down his spine and settled into his stomach. 

_It's not a big deal,_ he told himself. _So he got annoyed at you. Will got annoyed at you all the time. Arthur annoys you to death on a regular basis. It happens with friends._

But he couldn't convince himself; somehow, this felt different. Mordred had acted as if Merlin needed too much attention, as if – as if he'd rather just have a quieter life without all the trouble Merlin dragged him into. But this hadn't been some small nonsense. It mattered. Mordred could have told him any time to stop being overdramatic, over anything, anything except this. What if he had felt like this for a while, and just hid his impatience? What if Mordred was just putting up with Merlin because he wanted to keep being trusted, but didn't actually-

Merlin gripped the rock hard enough to bruise his palms. Now he was being ridiculous. He had felt Mordred's emotions more than once. Mordred cared about him. Today simply had been a bad day. Merlin had been too caught up in his own panic to check how he was; maybe all Mordred had needed today was for someone to pay some attention to _him_.

_I'm depending on him. Maybe too much_ , Merlin thought. He shook his head, trying to make his thoughts align instead of jumbling all over each other. He would tell Arthur about his magic in three days. His life would change irrevocably, one way or another. He needed Mordred on his side, because – he sighed at his short-sightedness. Somehow, in Merlin’s mind, Mordred was always going to stand up for him if it came to it. But this was Arthur, Mordred’s king, the man who he had pledged his loyalty to, the man he had nearly killed Morgana for, and most importantly, the man who had given him a second chance long before Merlin did.

If Arthur decided that Merlin's place was not in Camelot, would Mordred fall in line, and watch him leave? What else _could_ he do? What about Gwaine? He always joked to Merlin that he only really came to Camelot because of him. _But he stayed for Arthur_ , a voice whispered in Merlin's mind.

Merlin unclenched his hands forcefully. He shouldn't be trying to divide the knights' loyalties. This wasn't him against Arthur. The people who would be there for him if things went badly were the ones who always had been – Gaius and his mother. It was hard not to think about when this list had been longer – Will, Lancelot, his father – but Merlin forced himself not to dwell on misery. He should be grateful that he had a family at all. Even Kilgharrah, whatever his motives, he could depend on. There were others who would help him – druids, other magic users. 

Merlin took a deep breath and willed an orb of pure light to form in his hand. He could do this without Mordred's help. He may want the other man in his life more than he could ever have him, but he didn’t need him.

Merlin threw the orb into the black void and it sank down slowly, illuminating the walls of the pit, and faded out long before it reached the bottom. 


	11. Chapter 11

Merlin returned to the archives that night to write a letter to his mother, and convinced one of the messengers to take it for him. He snuck back to his room without meeting anyone else, and slept fitfully, aware that only two more nights separated him from their trip out of Camelot.

He managed to mostly avoid Mordred the next day – he forced a smile of hello when passing him in the corridor, rushing past and giving him no chance to talk, then busied himself in the kitchens.

With Arthur, he expertly regressed into servant mode, as he called it, all "yes, Sire" and "right away, Sire". Arthur let it pass without comment.

After attending the king, Merlin found an empty chamber where he could speed up his chores by magic, and only returned to his and Gaius’ quarters after he knew the patrol for the night would have left, with Mordred on it.

He really, really didn't expect to find Mordred sitting outside the door to Gaius' room.

"I bribed Gwaine to swap shifts with me," Mordred said by way of hello. "I suppose you _did_ warn me when you said you were good at avoiding things."

Merlin didn't know what to say. He had vaguely planned to minimise his interactions with Mordred until he had dealt with telling Arthur about his magic, and, depending on the outcome, to rebalance their friendship in a way that gave him more distance. But he had somehow forgotten Mordred himself in this plan; the grey eyes that held his gaze showed more determination than he could brush off, and Merlin realised that he couldn’t physically bring himself to push Mordred away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have talked to you."

Mordred got to his feet. "You can now."

Merlin hesitated. While he had always felt safer in Mordred's chambers, it would be too much now, too familiar.

"Let's go then," he said, and led the way down the narrow staircase. Mordred followed without question, moving silently and lightly behind him. As they entered the tunnel leading to Kilgharrah's former prison, Merlin picked up two torches from the wall, and lit his own with a whispered spell. He heard Mordred do the same behind him, and then his sharp intake of breath as they left the tunnel and walked out onto the ledge above the pit. Merlin perched his torch and sat, waiting for the other man to join him.

"What is this place?" Mordred asked in a hushed voice.

"It's where Uther imprisoned the Great Dragon," Merlin said. "I used to come here and talk to him."

Mordred stared at him.

"Until I freed him, anyway," Merlin added, with a dry laugh. "And he tried to burn down Camelot."

More silence met his words. Then-

"Are you trying to scare me off?" Mordred asked, voice gentle. "Is this a test that you want me to fail, so you can convince yourself that I don't care about you?"

The words were like a stab to the heart. Merlin didn't want to look at Mordred and see the truth in his face; he didn't think he could handle it. He stared into the pit, eyes burning, a lump rising in his throat, yesterday's resolutions crumbling around him. He tried to remember what he had determined to say, before Mordred showed up at his doorstep and jumbled all his thoughts. "I'm sorry I've been - I shouldn't have unloaded things on you like I did."

There was movement on the rock beside him. He heard a sigh. "No. I am the one who needs to apologise. You caught me by surprise and I was – being incredibly selfish."

A sound of disbelief escaped Merlin, but Mordred shushed him. "You don’t need to give me so much credit, Merlin. You telling Arthur is what I have always wanted for you; I’m so proud that you are doing this, even if it terrifies you. That’s what I _should_ have said when you told me."

"Why didn’t you?" Merlin asked, quietly, no longer knowing what to expect.

"Because I thought – if this goes badly, you might leave Camelot, and I will have to stay behind. And if it goes well…" Mordred sighed, and continued with reluctance. "Then you won't need me anymore. You will have Arthur, and you can tell him everything." He shook his head, clearly disgusted by his own words. "It was stupid. I’m sorry. This isn't about me-"

Merlin whirled to face the other man, incredulous. "By the gods, Mordred, you're not a stand-in for someone else. How many people do you _think_ I trust this much?"

Mordred stilled, the flickering torchlight illuminating his features. Merlin saw the unguarded hope in them and wanted to cry. No one had ever looked at him like that and he almost couldn’t bear it; he wanted to tell Mordred to stop, to not put so much faith in him, because he didn’t want to disappoint him. He wanted to tell Mordred that without him, he may never even have considered telling Arthur, may have thought that lying would always be his only option.

Strong hands wrapped around Merlin's forearms. Merlin saw the unasked question in Mordred’s face and held his breath. They hadn't reached out with their magic since Merlin's… realization. As Mordred’s magic inched towards his, flowing over his arms like a second skin, Merlin collected his bearings and pushed his feelings for Mordred far, far down, past his conflicted worry about telling Arthur, past the restless anticipation that came with that worry, and when he met Mordred's calm reassurance, he fell into it gratefully, focusing on it until everything else disappeared. His magic brushed against confidence, trust, and the edge of something Mordred was holding just out of reach.

Merlin didn't think about what he was doing. His magic instinctively stretched out to nudge it, and familiar feelings flooded him – feelings he had been trying to ignore, except they were unfamiliar too, as they weren't his-

Mordred wrenched his arms away and scrambled to his feet. Merlin barely registered that he had gotten up as well.

"I'm so sorry," Mordred said, frantic. "I didn't mean to show you that, I just wanted to-"

He never finished, because Merlin had heard enough explanations for a lifetime. He stepped right into Mordred's space, pulled him close by the collar of his shirt, and kissed him.

For seconds, they stood, their lips pressed against each other – then the tension flowed out of Mordred and he closed the gap between their bodies. His lips parted. Merlin tugged him even closer and kissed him properly, savouring the soft touch of his lips, the warmth of skin against his. He forgot how to be hesitant; he licked his way into Mordred's mouth as if he'd done it a hundred times before, and Mordred shuddered against him, kissing back recklessly, tongue sliding against Merlin’s, his hands travelling up his back and neck and tangling in his hair.

When they pulled away to gasp for air, it was for the smallest of distances. Merlin’s forehead rested against Mordred's, tips of their noses touching, breaths mingling. Happiness stretched Merlin’s mouth into a ridiculously wide smile but he didn't care – Mordred was smiling too. He dipped forward to kiss Merlin again, quickly, as if to check that he still could, and Merlin laughed and kissed back, teeth colliding between their smiles, neither of them caring enough to stop. The dark cavern, once so ominous, made Merlin feel strangely protected, and he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful than the dim torchlight reflecting in Mordred’s eyes.

"Merlin," Mordred breathed between kisses. "We should-"

Merlin couldn’t resist meeting his lips again, and distracted him from finishing the sentence.

"We should…?" he asked, when they next broke apart. Mordred laughed. "Go to my room," he said, voice still breathless.

Merlin tried to concentrate on the meaning of those words. His heart skipped in his chest and his body's nerve endings were on fire. He didn't want to have to go anywhere and stop touching Mordred. On the other hand-

"Your room has a bed," he said, suddenly on board with the idea. He then realised what he had just implied and opened his mouth to clarify that they _didn’t have to use it that way_ , but Mordred grinned slyly and answered: “It does.”

He ran his hands down Merlin's back, found the edge of his tunic, and pulled it up just enough to touch a sliver of skin. A strangled noise escaped Merlin and Mordred kissed him again, full of intent.

_"Let's go,"_ Merlin voiced into his mind, barely managing to steady the connection and _definitely_ not keeping his feelings out of it.

Mordred groaned lowly and used Merlin’s shoulders to push himself away to arm’s length. "Remind me why we came down here?" he asked, eyes closed and hands tightening.

"I am sure I had reasons," Merlin said. "And I'm sure they were reasonable."

They walked back as quickly as they dared, Merlin stumbling on the staircases because he couldn't stop _looking_ at Mordred. "I will learn the transportation spell," he promised the knight, who threw his head back and laughed, and Merlin thought back to the first time he had seen that laugh, back when they didn't trust each other, and how he never wanted to stop seeing it.

"You could just learn how to walk," Mordred said.

"Hmm. Too complicated." Merlin snuck a kiss onto his cheek. They had reached the corridor to Mordred's chambers and stopped, checking if it was empty before hurrying down it.

"Also," Merlin added, "what's the point of telling Arthur if I can't show off-"

Footsteps approached from the other staircase – in unspoken agreement, they made a dash for the room, crashing through the door; Merlin just managed to lock it behind him before he was pushed back up against it.

"We're not talking about this now," Mordred said roughly, tone allowing no argument, grey eyes blazing. Now that they had left the dark corridors, Merlin could see every inch of how wrecked Mordred looked, lips reddened from where Merlin had bitten them, cheeks flushed and curls a mess – Merlin couldn't remember when he had done that, but what an excellent idea-

Mordred pinned Merlin’s hands against the door and kissed him maddeningly slowly, successfully driving all other thoughts from his mind. Merlin growled in frustration when stopped from responding more enthusiastically, and tried to push off the knight’s grip.

"You really have no patience," Mordred admonished. Merlin smirked. He let his magic push out, using it to overcome Mordred's strength, and pivoted the other man against the door.

"I don't," he agreed.

It still took them a while to make it to the bed.

~~

Merlin awoke slowly the next morning, warm and comfortable between a heavy blanket and the heat of Mordred's naked skin against his. Dark curls brushed his chin and legs tangled in his – Merlin smiled at the figure next to him, his own eyelids still heavy with sleep. The memories of last night poured into his consciousness like sand through an hourglass, making his cheeks heat, and he inadvertently reached out and pulled Mordred closer, to reassure himself this was real. He couldn't quite deal with the unravelling of events in the past few days. He had never allowed one person to determine his happiness like this before – not even Arthur.

_One more day._

Merlin's stomach somersaulted and he breathed in deeply, taking in the familiar scents of Mordred's room. It had become his safe haven in the last months.

Seeing the sky outside brighten with the first rays of the sun, Merlin dropped a kiss on Mordred's curls, gently whispering his name. Mordred stirred and turned, giving him a sleepy look which turned into an involuntary smile. "Morning," he said, voice rough.

Merlin had never seen him like this in the morning – unguarded and soft. He dropped another kiss onto his forehead.

"Are you on early patrol?" he asked. Mordred nodded and sighed as he pushed himself upright. They got dressed quickly, morning air cold in the room, stealing small touches whenever they could. Somehow, Merlin knew that they didn't have to talk, though if it had been anyone else, he would be second-guessing himself right now.

"I will see you later," Mordred promised when he was ready to go, then pulled Merlin in for a kiss. "Don't start worrying until then," he added, warning in his voice.

Merlin kissed the side of his neck chastely. "I won't."

It turned out to be an easy promise to keep. The memories of the night before followed Merlin everywhere during his morning chores, and he caught himself smiling for no reason, and getting distracted during the meetings he attended Arthur in. His body didn't feel quite his own – his skin still tingled from the phantom touches of Mordred's hands, his clothes didn't seem to fit properly, and he barely kept down his food.

Time went by in jumps and stretches. Just when Merlin started being able to concentrate for long enough to realise that this time tomorrow, Arthur would _know_ , he had to run and help with the horses for the last messengers.

"Sire – are we still riding out tomorrow?" he asked Arthur tentatively when setting up lunch for him and Gwen.

"Of course," Arthur answered, as if he doubted Merlin's sanity for even asking. "You don't need to tell the ambassador, I spoke to him earlier."

Merlin managed a nod in thanks. He mumbled something about getting their things ready and fled.

He tried his best to stay busy and made short work of his room, packing all of his clothes to take with him, ruthlessly bagging up all the magic books under the loose floorboard and the Sidhe staff under his bed, before leaving for Arthur’s chambers to clean his armour, and finish packing their bags.

By the time he had packed extra rations, he couldn't keep the anxiety at bay anymore.

Would this be the last time he did his chores? As much as he complained about them, they had become a familiar routine, and an excuse to be around Arthur. Even if he accepted Merlin, would he let him remain a servant?

_And what if he sends me away?_

Merlin sighed. As much as he hated to, he had forced himself to confront and plan for this possibility. If he fled Camelot, he would leave a defenseless Arthur behind for Morgana to attack. Merlin could not let that happen – he would have to stay close.

The sun crept closer towards the horizon. Merlin grabbed the bundle of books and the staff from his room and snuck them into the archives’ hidden chamber which he had once discovered. Nothing left to do, and inexplicably drained from the day, he sat down on the dusty floor, his back against a bookshelf, insides in knots. How little time it had taken to pack up his entire life – if he never returned to Camelot, there would be no shred of his presence left.

Merlin leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He sat like this, unmoving, for a long time, trying to quieten his mind.

He was completely unprepared when the sudden feeling of dislocation hit him. He gasped, hands frantically seeking purchase on the bookshelf as the world gave a shiver and a sudden coldness enveloped him.

Then, out of nowhere, it was gone.

_Enjorren is dead._

Merlin didn't know how he knew. He hadn't even noticed the world's slight off-balance tilt until it readjusted itself with a big heave, and he had no idea how one man’s death could have caused this, but he was absolutely certain that it had. Nothing around him had moved – the upheaval had been entirely in his mind, and his magic.

Merlin's thoughts raced. Had Kilgharrah killed him? Had the Cailleach? His ignorance of the dragon's capabilities worried him more and more now that he had questioned his motivations. If he trusted that Kilgharrah had dealt with Enjorren, would he come to regret it?

Merlin slowly made his way to the physician's quarters. Gaius took one look at his face and decided to keep the dinner conversation light. Merlin didn’t mention his strange moment of disorientation; clearly, Gaius had not felt it.

"Remember, if you need anything, anything at all – send me a message," Gaius finally said as they finished eating. Merlin nodded, and tried to revive the hopefulness he had felt before.

"I will be fine, Gaius," he said. "He might be angry for a bit, but he'll come round. It's Arthur. He needs me. He can't even dress himself!"

Gaius snorted and said dryly: "I sincerely hope that there are other qualities he will need, or there certainly will be no hope of his 'coming round'."

Merlin's mouth fell open in outrage, worries temporarily forgotten. "You are supposed to be on my side here! Can’t you at least _pretend_ to agree? "

"Oh, I am on your side," Gaius said, "but there is no point in being delusional." He laughed at Merlin’s indignant sound, his eyes twinkling. He continued more soberly: "I do believe that there is every chance that the king will recognize the loyalty behind your actions, Merlin. He takes much more after his mother than he does after Uther, and he trusts you a great deal."

Merlin smiled; Gaius’ optimism warmed him. He could only hope he was right. "All right. I'm going, I promised to see Mordred before I left." He was spared having to give any more detail when Gaius came around the table and enveloped him in a tight hug.

"Good luck, my boy. I won't wait up, but all being well, I will see you tomorrow evening." Merlin didn’t comment on the hoarseness in his voice, or the brightness in his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Merlin let himself into Mordred's room and found him sitting in front of the fireplace in his night clothes. The fire blazed a little too brightly to be entirely natural.

"You'll burn the rug one day," Merlin said by way of greeting. Mordred gestured for Merlin to join him; he sat down, their shoulders touching, and it was all Merlin could do to resist the magnetic pull of Mordred’s body.

"You look calmer than I was expecting," Mordred remarked.

Merlin shrugged. "Gaius cheered me up." He didn't add _and you're here_ , but his hand found Mordred's, who tangled their fingers together.

"I want you to promise me something. Well, three things," Mordred said. Merlin's guard immediately went up – it sounded rehearsed.

"Ok," he said tentatively.

"Firstly, if things don't go well tomorrow," Mordred said, and turned to look Merlin straight in the eye, "I want you to promise me that you will not let Arthur hurt you. Physically, I mean. No matter whether you think you deserve it."

Merlin swallowed thickly, feeling exposed. Was he that obvious? His mood had been oscillating between two extremes – either he longed for Arthur to understand all that Merlin had sacrificed, and finally receive some form of thank you; or he thought how he had betrayed Arthur with every lie, and with every person that he had allowed to die.

He had been in the latter mindset more often recently.

"If nothing else can convince you, we both know Arthur would regret it," Mordred said.

Merlin grimaced. "Fine, I promise. But I won't hurt him, not even to defend myself."

"With magic like yours, you won't have to," Mordred said with certainty, and Merlin let it go. 

"The second thing is a permission really," Mordred continued. "If you want to tell Arthur about my magic, or about the prophecy, you can do so. I trust your judgement on this."

Merlin flinched. "I'm not telling him about the prophecy." He couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice. "He would never believe it, and even if he did one day – I don't want that between you."

Mordred shrugged. "I'm not telling you what to do. But if it's between making Arthur trust you by being honest, or keeping my secrets-"

"That won't be a choice I need to make," Merlin interrupted, hoping that his tone made it clear that he would not budge on this. "What else?"

Mordred looked at him silently for a long time, face inscrutable, then leaned forward and kissed his cheek softly.

"The third thing is not for tomorrow," he continued, "but when you go after Morgana, whenever that may be, I want you to take me with you – no, please let me explain." He raised a hand to stop Merlin in mid-protest. "I am aware that you don't need my help against her; you are far more powerful than her."

Merlin wanted to disagree with him again, thinking of all the close calls he had experienced with Morgana, but he held his tongue.

"But you don't fight to kill," Mordred continued. "She does. That is the only reason she is still alive, and the only reason she can hurt you."

Merlin stared. "How long have you been thinking about all of this?"

"A while," Mordred shrugged, then took in Merlin's expression and ducked his head. "I'm not - this isn't a criticism," he said, sounding frustrated at himself. "I just-”

"I’m not offended," Merlin interrupted. "I just hadn't realised you had been analysing me for so long."

This time, Mordred actually blushed. Merlin wanted to laugh but at the same time, he wanted to run away and hide. Nobody usually paid attention to him. No one really knew how he used, or didn't use, his magic – Gaius mostly worked from what Merlin decided to tell him. He hadn't expected Mordred to see so easily what he was barely able to admit to himself.

"I don't. It just doesn't feel right." Merlin struggled to explain his thoughts. "There's something wrong about taking a life with magic, it feels – too distant." He shook his head. "You shouldn't be able to just break someone without touching them. Death is personal. It's messy. It's… I don't know if I'm making any sense."

"You are," Mordred said, thoughtful. "I think I have always preferred sword fighting for that reason. But I have also used my magic to kill; it _can_ just be another weapon if I need one." He hesitated. "I don't think I would struggle to kill Morgana, if I had the chance. She has hurt too many, strayed too far from the path."

"It's not your job to kill her," Merlin said.

"It's not anyone's," Mordred said. "We make our own choices, remember? This is mine; I want to help you."

Merlin’s throat constricted, but his heart jumped. He wanted to believe Mordred, but he didn’t dare.

“You don’t have to try to be kind,” he forced out. “You can say that I can’t do it.”

Mordred stilled. “This bothers you.”

Merlin laughed mirthlessly. “Of course it does. You’re not the first to remind me that I’ve let her live for too long.”

Mordred’s hand squeezed his, and they sat in silence, their breaths matching. When Mordred spoke again, his voice started out tentative. “One time, when I struggled to control my magic, one of the Elders told me: _remember that your weaknesses are always your strengths, and your strengths your weaknesses_. I didn’t understand it, back then. My magic was wilder than any of the other druids’, and I found it difficult to follow their teachings. I didn’t see how there could be strength in that.” He paused, then continued more confidently. “I might not know all you have done, Merlin, but I know you are forgiving, and care more for others than yourself. You might think this makes you weak. Some might even agree. But look at what Morgana became, because she could not forgive, and did not care for others.”

Merlin swallowed, and the corners of Mordred’s mouth rose into a sad smile. “On the whole,” he said, “I think it’s probably a good thing that you do not kill easily.”

Mordred’s hand still lay in Merlin’s, solid and warm, and Merlin held his breath, concentrating on the feeling of it. Mordred had looked right through him. Merlin had expected judgement, but Mordred simply offered his own strength.

"I'll think about it," he managed to get out. More than anything, he wanted to _not_ think. He felt too much, and tomorrow loomed too closely, and Mordred was sitting right there next to him, far too far away.

"Can we-" He hesitated.

Mordred looked up. "Are you tired? You can sleep, I don't mind."

"I don't think I'll be tired for a while," Merlin admitted.

Mordred toyed with the strands of the carpet, the hand holding Merlin's tightening reflexively.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, reaching for him, craving contact.

Mordred leaned into him. "I was wondering if you want-" He fell silent.

Merlin gave up all pretense – he pulled away from Mordred's shoulder and swung a leg over his to straddle him, knees on either side of his hips. Mordred met Merlin's mouth in a kiss, open mouthed and hungry, and Merlin kissed him back with everything he had been holding back during their conversation. He didn't realise he had pushed him down onto the rug until Mordred pulled him by the waist and Merlin lost his balance with an undignified squeak, rolling off onto his side, leg still slung over Mordred's.

Mordred laughed, breathless, and angled his body towards Merlin's.

"You haven't asked your question," Merlin said.

"I wanted-" Mordred stopped, looking at Merlin, faces inches from each other. "But we don't have to."

"Wanted what?" Merlin asked.

Mordred voiced the answer straight into his mind, gaze intent, and Merlin stopped breathing. He wordlessly buried his head in Mordred's chest, and forced himself to inhale, his whole body on fire, images running through his mind.

"I've never – I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.

"I have, and you won't," Mordred said urgently, lips finding Merlin's hair, cheek, and moving down his neck. "I promise." Through the haze of arousal, Merlin heard the insistence in his voice, and his objections crumbled away.

They were a little rougher with each other than necessary, too aware of what loomed before them – Mordred bit and sucked Merlin's neck down to his shoulder and Merlin gripped his hips so hard he left bruises. His magic washed over their bodies like a second skin, pulled them closer together, and he could feel Mordred everywhere, could feel what he felt, heard the sounds spilling from his mouth as if they came from his own. He lost himself in the onslaught on his senses.

They lay entangled for a long time afterwards, the fire dimming and the air turning cooler, brushing over the heat of their bodies. Merlin drew lazy circles on Mordred's skin, who leaned into the touch with his eyes closed. The intensity hanging in the air between them was slowly ebbing away into comfort and warmth.

Mordred broke the silence first. "That was… different," he said, voice serene.

Merlin sent a vague question into his mind, magic thrumming under his skin.

"Good different," Mordred clarified. "Just – a lot."

Merlin didn't need to ask. He had never let his magic go unchecked like this, never been with someone who had their own magic to weave into his, and he felt like he had laid himself bare in front of Mordred, defenses shattered to pieces.

"Too much?" he asked softly.

Mordred smiled. "Probably," he said. "I really don't care."

It startled a laugh out of Merlin. He understood what Mordred really said: _I shouldn't trust you this much, but I do._ He couldn't argue. He knew, objectively, that he was sharing a bed with the man who would kill Arthur one day, but he had never felt happier. Casting aside his worries for the next day, he fell asleep with his arms still around Mordred.

~~

"Not a bad day for it, this not-hunting," Arthur said as they rode out through the gates of Camelot the next morning. He couldn't hide his excitement to get out of the castle, and Merlin smiled. He missed spending time with this more careless Arthur, the one who didn't worry about how every word he spoke would 'reflect on the kingdom'.

"It is, Sire. Perfect conditions for hunting absolutely nothing at all."

They made their way through the outskirts of Camelot and headed towards the Darkling Woods in unspoken agreement – this used to be the path they took for their actual hunting trips.

"So, Merlin, what is this thing you need to tell me?" Arthur asked, as soon as they left the last residencies behind.

"Not the most patient today, are you," Merlin countered and Arthur swiped a hand towards his head in mock offense.

"Well, it _is_ convenient," Arthur continued. "Because I also need to speak to you. And I rather suspect it's about the same thing."

"Sire?" Merlin asked, confused. What did Arthur _think_ he wanted to talk about?

"The thing is, Merlin," Arthur continued, "You are nowhere near as subtle as you think you are. And quite frankly, you are awful at keeping secrets."

Merlin snorted. "Is that so," he said.

Arthur ignored him. "I have been speaking to Gwen, since our last escape from Morgana," he said. "And we both agree that magic has been our – blind spot."

Merlin froze. _Did_ Arthur know? Was this the moment when he told Merlin he had figured out his magic years ago? He looked back at Arthur and cursed himself – the king had watched his reaction with open amusement.

"See what I mean, Merlin? You look like a startled deer. It's a good thing we didn't go hunting or someone may have confused you for one."

"Hilarious, Sire," Merlin said dryly, but his heartbeat still hammered in his ears.

"And of course, the obvious solution is to talk to a sorcerer," Arthur continued, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil Merlin was feeling. "Ideally one that doesn't want to kill me. And we then remembered that _you_ suggested meeting the old sorcerer once, and led me to him."

Merlin's heart did a double take of panic and then returned to its normal speed. Of course. Arthur thought he wanted to talk about-

"Dragoon," Merlin supplied.

"Ah yes. I thought he had a ridiculous name like that." Arthur peered at Merlin, who had fallen slightly behind. "You know him then. And you have been talking to him behind my back, and _that's_ how you know more about magic."

He sounded so proud of himself that Merlin almost wanted it to be true.

"You may be… not entirely wrong," he said cautiously.

Arthur gave a sharp laugh, then reached over and slapped Merlin on the back. "I sometimes think it causes you physical pain to agree with me, Merlin."

They had arrived at the edge of the forest. Merlin sped up and led the way.

"So, hypothetically speaking," he said, after a few minutes of furious thinking. "If it _was_ true-"

He swore he could _hear_ Arthur roll his eyes.

"-would you want to speak to him? To Dragoon?"

"Well I am glad that you have understood what I did, in fact, just say," Arthur replied, in his special 'look at me putting up with this idiot' tone. "Yes, Merlin, I would like to speak to him. And yes, I do realise that magic is outlawed, and I promise no harm will come to him for meeting me." He shot Merlin a dark look. "I shouldn't say the same for you, who has been aiding and abetting a sorcerer, but I understand from Gaius that this man has been trying to protect me."

_When did Gaius tell him that?_ Merlin wondered, half cursing and half thanking the physician.

"What do you want to talk to him about?" he asked instead.

Arthur grew more somber. "Far too many things," he sighed. "Most of what I know about magic, I know from my father – and I suspect much of it is… lacking." He stopped, and corrected himself. "I _know_ much of it is. I have seen magic in many forms, and most of it should not be possible, according to my father's views."

Merlin stared at Arthur, stunned by the amount of thought he had put into this – he had never mentioned anything of the sort to Merlin before. When had Arthur reached the point where, in comparing his experience of and Uther's warped view on magic, he had found it an inadequate explanation? So much that he was looking for an alternative?

"People see what they want to see," Merlin said quietly. "Your father never expected to see anything but evil in magic, so he wasn't able to."

Only the sound of hooves met his statement. Then-

"You really make no sense, Merlin," Arthur said, shaking his head. "To be able to recognise _that_ , but not know your left from your right foot most of the time – you truly have a talent." He sounded thoughtful as he said it, and Merlin's heart jumped again.

"Will you talk to him now?" he asked Arthur. "Because I was planning for you to meet him."

It wasn't _entirely_ a lie.

The king smiled. "I see we are no longer speaking hypothetically."

Merlin ducked his head – he had forgotten about that bit. "Not really any point," he conceded.

"There never was," Arthur replied. "Where are we meeting him?"

Merlin considered his options. "Let's walk from here," he said shortly, deciding to deal with the details later.

They led their horses along a narrow path until they reached the cave which Merlin had been looking for. He had found it a few years ago, back when he still genuinely went out to collect herbs for Gaius rather than pretending to, and the memory of it had stuck with him ever since.

The entrance was narrower than he remembered – just enough for one person to fit through, and half hidden behind entangled tree roots. Merlin tied up their horses nearby and gestured for Arthur to follow him.

"We're meeting in there?" Arthur asked, looking at the narrow gap with suspicion. "Will he know how to find us?"

"Are you worried you won't fit through?" Merlin asked innocently, and Arthur shoved him out of the way none too gently.

"Very funny, Merlin," Arthur squeezed through the gap and Merlin followed him, just as he complained loudly: "There's barely any light in here!"

"Will you give me a moment," Merlin grumbled, and immediately stumbled over a rock on the ground. Arthur grabbed him before he could fall flat on his face, and repeated helpfully: "I did tell you it was dark."

Merlin laughed, slightly hysterically. It _was_ dark. The cave was high but not very deep; in the dim light from the entrance, he could only just make out the full length of it, rocks lining one of the walls. They had arrived, and he couldn't push the moment of truth away any longer. He forced a deep breath.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked softly.

"Sorry," Merlin whispered. "I may be freaking out a bit."

He closed his eyes and collected himself. _You know what you are doing. This is who you are._

"You weren't entirely wrong," he finally said. "About what I wanted to tell you."

"But I wasn't entirely right," Arthur guessed. He narrowed his eyes, trying to take in their surroundings. "Where is Dragoon?"

"There is no Dragoon," Merlin said steadily. "There's just me."

He let his magic flow down his arm, into his right hand, to form an orb of light. It bathed the cave in silver, and shone on Arthur's face as he stared at Merlin, frozen, eyes wide, stunned into silence.

Merlin carefully took a step back and raised his arm. The orb floated to the ceiling and hung there, illuminating the ground enough for him to find a stone ledge to sit down on. He felt inexplicably calm, his panic lifted off with the sphere of light.

"Do you still want to talk?" he asked, quietly, and looked up at Arthur.

Arthur stood unmoving for a long time. He looked up, at the orb, as if to make sure he hadn't imagined it, and back down at his servant, perching cross-legged on the ground. Just when Merlin thought he might not get an answer, Arthur nodded.

"I do," he said. He took off the sheath that held Excalibur and placed it on the ground, then sunk down next to it. His face was set, and grim. "You'd better start."


	13. Chapter 13

"When I was born, everyone in Ealdor thought that my mother was ashamed for having a child out of wedlock. She never took me outside. No one really saw me for a few years. The people who did were mostly allowed in when I was asleep."

Merlin had never told his story before. But he had dreamed about it every day, for years, so he barely had to think about where to start.

"She wasn't ashamed – she couldn’t have cared less what people thought of her. But she first caught me using magic when I was two weeks old, and she couldn't make me stop." The corners of his mouth twitched when he remembered the stories his mum used to tell him.

"Apparently, I made things float a lot. And if I was upset, things around me broke without anyone touching them."

"Surely that's impossible," Arthur said, like he couldn't help himself.

Merlin shrugged. "It is. I mean – even by magic standards, I don't think a lot of what I do should be possible. But I didn't know that. Mum didn't know it, either. It took her a long time to teach me what was magic, and what wasn't – I figured it out mostly by watching her."

Arthur snorted in disbelief. "You were a child. How did you know how to use magic in the first place?"

"I didn't have to," Merlin said. "It's like breathing to me. It's harder to stop than not to."

That seemed to have an impact on Arthur. He looked up, at the orb of light hanging above them, a constant reminder.

"I see," he said. Merlin could hear the hint of anger in his voice and he pushed ahead before it had a chance to sink in.

"Mum did what she could, having no magic herself. She taught me to hide. She taught me to lie when strange things happened around me because my magic slipped."

"What kind of things?" Arthur asked.

Merlin shrugged. "Mostly small ones. Carts falling over, fires starting too quickly, that kind of thing. They were easy to explain away. But sometimes, they weren't." He bit his lip. "When I was about six years old, there was a really bad storm, just before the harvest. It destroyed most of our crops."

"I remember that year," Arthur said, sounding surprised. "A lot of people starved that winter."

Merlin nodded. "It was all everyone talked about, for days. How we wouldn't have enough to get us through, how people would die." He dug his fingers into the rocky ground. "I didn't _mean_ to do anything. But one night, I went to bed thinking about it, and the next morning, I woke up and the crops had grown back."

Arthur inhaled sharply. Merlin met his startled gaze.

"I just remember mum asking me what I'd done, over and over, and then they were lighting fires in the fields and burning the crops." He looked away, the memory still painful.

"Three villagers died that winter. They would starve rather than eat something that had been touched by magic."

The mood in the cave shifted. Merlin looked at Arthur, and couldn't see the anger anymore. Something told Merlin that this conversation was going very differently from what Arthur had imagined.

"I got better at hiding, but it was never good enough. Will found out – I used magic in front of him, by accident, and he wouldn't buy any of my excuses."

"He never had any magic then," Arthur said, clearly thinking of his visit to Ealdor.

Merlin shook his head. "No. He was covering for me when he told you that. He was always covering for me." He wished he hadn't thought of Will; the image of his last moments rose unbidden in his mind.

"Mum knew I couldn't stay forever, so she wrote to an old friend in Camelot, asking if he would apprentice me."

"Gaius," Arthur guessed.

"Yes," Merlin confirmed. "He agreed. I don't think he really knew what he was signing up for." He tried for a smile, but Arthur remained stone faced.

"So I left, and came here. It – it was -"

For the first time, he struggled for words.

"Mum always made it sound like Ealdor was dangerous for me, because everyone knew each other, and it was hard to keep secrets for long. But on my first day in Camelot, I saw your father publicly burn a man for having magic. I'd never seen anything like that happen. I guess I never really believed that it could happen to me."

Arthur's hands clenched on his lap, betraying his discomfort.

Merlin swallowed hard. "I know you think I'm scared of everything. I _am_ scared. But not of facing down Morgana. I'm scared of being found out. I'm scared of losing my home, or my friends." He bit back the lump in his throat. "I trust you with my life, Arthur, and I've spent all those years protecting you. I don't know what I would do if you took that away." He stopped, forcing himself to keep his shaking voice under control.

Arthur was staring at him with – dismay? He couldn't tell.

"When you say you've been protecting me," Arthur said. His voice sounded strange. Merlin answered the unasked question.

"Against magic, mainly. The gods know you don't need any help in a sword fight, but when it comes to being enchanted, or being attacked by magic – there's not much normal weapons can do."

Arthur shook his head. "But apart from Morgana – barely anyone has attacked me with magic."

Merlin saw the doubt in Arthur's face even as he said the words. There was still something else there, that Merlin couldn't pinpoint – or maybe the silvery light of his orb wasn't enough to make it out.

"Merlin?" Arthur prompted, and now Merlin recognised the expression – Arthur looked lost.

"They have," Merlin said gently. "It would probably take me days to tell you about every single person who has tried to enchant or kill you with magic." He hesitated. "I can show you some of it. But I would have to…" He stopped. Suddenly, the uncertainty crashed back down on him.

"Show me," Arthur demanded, unexpectedly authoritative.

Merlin let out a sharp breath. "I – I'd have to use a spell. It would just show you my memories, it wouldn't-"

"It's fine. Show me," Arthur interrupted.

Merlin's throat closed and he struggled to breathe evenly. He couldn't tell what had changed Arthur's mood so suddenly. Wordlessly, he crawled closer to Arthur, until he was within reach.

"Can I – I need a physical connection-" Merlin started, but Arthur just waved him off impatiently. "I said it was fine, _Mer_ lin."

The familiarity of the tease eased Merlin's breathing. He reached out and placed a hand on the side of Arthur's head. He had researched this spell, but he had never done it before.

"Ara ġecnāw gemyndige," he whispered, concentrating hard on the day he had first saved Arthur's life – the banquet, and Uther introducing Lady Helen of Mora.

He knew the exact moment the spell took hold because Arthur flinched, nearly dislodging Merlin's hand, and Merlin suddenly found himself back in the throne room, standing by the wall with the other servants and Gaius, watching the seated nobles. He could feel a presence in his mind, someone looking through his eyes, but had little time to think about it.

Scenes merged into one another: Lady Helen started singing and weaving her enchantment; everyone except Merlin was asleep; the dagger sped towards Arthur; Merlin instinctively slowed down time and pushed Arthur out of harm's way. As the scene faded, Merlin realised he could steer the memories, and focus on the aspects that were important to his story. He moved on to Valiant's visit: the snakes blinking at him out of the shield, Gaius' grave face at discovering the snake bite on Valiant's defeated opponent, and then he was sneaking back into the armory and cutting off the head of a snake. He fast-forwarded to studying the spell all night, and making the snakes appear in front of everyone during the fight.

With some effort, Merlin opened his eyes and pulled away from Arthur. The king blinked into the light of the cave, disoriented.

"Why did you stop?" he asked.

Merlin stared. He had expected disorientation at best, but Arthur's offhand tone indicated that experiencing someone else's memories through magic wasn't anything to worry about.

"Just checking," he said lightly, and whispered the spell to continue the connection.

They rushed through his memories faster now that Merlin got the hang of the spell – once again, Merlin healed Gwen's father, only to see her accused of witchcraft; he trudged through underground passages with Arthur and helped him kill the Afanc. He drank poison for Arthur and dreamed of Nimueh luring him into a trap, and sent a light to guide him out. He helped Lancelot defeat the Griffin, and forged his family tree for him; he helplessly watched Sophia enchant Arthur, and nearly kill him, stopping her just in time. And all through it, he kept listening, reluctantly, to the dragon telling him that his and Arthur's destinies lay together.

He had to slow down and regain control after that, because the next memory threatened to spill over, and it was of a druid boy on the run. He instead delved into the Questing Beast's attack, from Morgana's panicked warning at the foot of the staircase, to Arthur wounded before Merlin could kill the Beast, then Arthur on death's doorstep with no hope of recovery. Merlin stood in the cavern with Kilgharrah, begging for his advice – he was on the Isle of the Blessed, negotiating with Nimueh, determined to give his life for Arthur's. Relief at Arthur's recovery turned into horror as Hunith arrived up on his doorstep the next morning, dying.

At this point, caught in the swell of images, Merlin realised that knowing what would happen did not make him immune to the pain of seeing it unfold again. He read, paralysed with grief, the letter from Gaius, and his heart raced as he arrived at the Isle of the Blessed too late to save him. Nimueh's taunts hurt just as much as the first time, and he stopped breathing when she hit him squarely in the chest with a ball of fire. His magic rose up like a tidal wave inside him, untamed and furious. He ripped the power of life and death from Nimueh's hands and struck her body down with lightning.

Merlin forcefully cut the connection and pulled his hand from Arthur, unthinkingly pressing it to the old scar on his ribcage. His chest burned and he wanted to cough, but there was no smoke in his lungs now. The cave lay quietly and peacefully, still bathed in the silvery light of Merlin's orb, a sheath of gold cutting through it where the rising sun was reaching through the entrance.

Arthur was watching Merlin, and the warlock quickly lowered his hand from his chest. He didn't know how much of the memory Arthur could _feel_ , rather than see – he didn't want to ask.

"You killed Nimueh," Arthur said into the silence. "So she died – in my place, in the end?"

"Yes," Merlin said. "The irony is not lost on me."

Arthur gave something between a huff and a laugh. He lowered his head. "Your magic," he said, speaking to his hands. "It's – powerful."

Merlin flinched at the word. "Yes," he said, and left it at that. What else could he say, with what he had just shown him?

Arthur exhaled, long and steady. "There is a lot more," he stated more than asked.

Merlin sighed. "I don't have to show you everything," he said. "We'd be here for days if I did. But there are some things you need to know."

Arthur was shaking his head, gaze still lowered. "I didn’t mean- I want to know. Whatever you will show me."

Merlin hated the uncertainty in Arthur's voice, the sudden stilted respect.

"Arthur," he said, almost forcefully, and the king looked up at that. "It's not all going to be me doing great things. I've made a lot of mistakes, and they've killed people."

Arthur took that in for a minute. "Well, they would," he said finally. "That's what happens when you have power and make mistakes."

Merlin's mouth opened in a silent _Oh_. It hit him, perhaps for the first time in his life, that Arthur may understand what he felt like more than anyone else in the world.

"Ready to keep going?" Arthur asked, with the smallest flash of amusement at Merlin's undoubtedly dumbstruck face. Merlin nodded and reached out.

It became easier to steer now, so he steeled himself and started the long and painful descent into Morgana's downfall. He fought with Gaius over the decision to keep her in the dark about her visions. He talked to Morgana despite it, putting her in touch with the druids, then arrived just in time to see their camp attacked and the druids slaughtered. He watched with surprise as Morgause spared Arthur's life, but then tried to turn him against his father. Watching the two embrace, Merlin wondered how much of Igraine's spirit was really her, and how much had been under Morgause's control. He stopped Arthur from killing Uther, hating himself for the words he spoke, but relieved to have spared Arthur the pain of murdering his own father in a rage.

He continued the story with the attack of the Knights of Medhir, while the castle lay under a sleeping spell: Merlin stood in front of the Great Dragon again and promised to set him free, only to be told that he had to kill Morgana in order to break the spell. He watched his hands shake as he picked up the hemlock in Gaius' chambers, and poured it into their waterskins not long after. Morgana dying in his arms, he bargained with Morgause, her fury held off only by the fear for her half-sister. Finally, they left, and Merlin returned into the underground cavern to fulfil his promise.

And then, there was fire. Merlin lost control of the thread of memories, guilt overwhelming him and forging its own path instead. The visions from the Crystal of Neahtid merged into reality as Kilgharrah attacked the city, engulfing its soldiers in flames, taunting Merlin's useless attempts to stop him. They were in the throne room and Gaius told Uther about the surviving Dragon Lord; the conversation merged into another, back in his chambers, where Gaius warned Merlin that the same Dragon Lord was his father. Balinor pushed to the forefront of the memory, healing Arthur and distrustful of everyone and everything, turning down Merlin's request for help without a second thought – until the name Hunith crossed his lips and Merlin saw what he had to do to convince him. Balinor agreed to come back to Camelot, to walk into his own death – but it came even sooner than that. Merlin only just managed to cut off the memory of the bandit attack and pushed ahead to the knights riding out to confront Kilgharrah days later, Arthur being knocked unconscious, Merlin sending the Great Dragon away under threat of death-

A hand grabbed his and pulled it away. The memories crashed to a halt. Kilgharrah's roar stopped and silence fell, interrupted only by fragments of bird song from outside the cave.

Merlin stared at Arthur, who had broken the spell, and the tear tracks on his face. Merlin raised a hand to his own face and found tears there too, though he couldn't remember shedding them.

"Oh Merlin," Arthur said, his eyes laden with sadness. "You really-" He sighed.

"...messed that one up?" Merlin supplied, trying for a wan smile. He knew he shouldn't joke, but it was hard to break years of habit. Their differences of status had always given them so little room to speak as equals; he and Arthur mostly communicated between the lines. He didn't know how to bridge the gap from their banter to the brutal honesty of reliving his memories with Arthur in the back of his head.

"You shouldn't have had to go through that alone," Arthur said quietly. "You should have had a chance to grieve for your father."

"I barely knew him," Merlin said softly. "I would have been grieving for something I never had."

"As did I, with my mother," Arthur said. "It makes it no less painful."

The comparison brought the tears back to Merlin’s eyes. It reminded him of why he gave his loyalty to Arthur, even back when he was still mostly a prat. No other royal he had ever met would compare their situations or feelings to those of a servant, and genuinely believe them to be the same. He knew that had he told Arthur at the time who Balinor was, he would have stood by Merlin.

But he wouldn't have thought through the consequences.

"Let's take a break," Arthur decided, rising to his feet.

Sunshine blinded Merlin as they left the eerie twilight of the cave. Time, which had been suspended in a bubble, resumed at its normal pace, and only now did Merlin remember the world outside of their conversation, a world which went on just as before.

They unpacked the supplies and sat on the grass, sharing bits of bread and fruit. Merlin closed his eyes and held his face to the sun. None of the books had mentioned just how exhausting going through years of memories would be.

_That's because the spell is meant to share one memory and no one else was mad enough to try more than that._

Merlin grinned slightly. His mental voice sounded an awful lot like Mordred nowadays.

"Something funny?" Arthur's voice asked to his right.

Merlin cracked an eye open and squinted at the king. "Just glad that memory spell worked. Never tried it before."

He did laugh then, at Arthur's outraged expression. "Nothing bad would have happened, Arthur. The hardest thing is the focus, so at worst, I would have jumped around too much for it to make any sense."

He waited for the inevitable rebuke.

"Well I wasn't going to say anything," Arthur said. "But your focus _was_ pretty awful to start with."

With one quick movement, he reached over and snatched the apple Merlin had been about to bite into from his hand.

Merlin raised his eyebrows in the equivalent of _What point are you trying to make?_

Arthur looked embarrassed. He paused, then broke the apple down the middle and passed half back to Merlin.

"I suppose it's better than I could do," he conceded.

Merlin bit his lip to keep his smile from spreading. "I suppose," he said.

Merlin's head pounded when he finally sat back and stopped the flow of memories. The longer he kept the memory spell going, the more he felt like he had run for hours – clearly his body thought it had gone through years of magical attacks all over again, despite barely moving from the floor of the cave.

He had shown Arthur all he could of his constant war with Morgana, including his many failed attempts to stop her, even the one that led to Uther's death. He had shown him the worst and the best of his magic.

"I need time," Arthur said, abruptly, as they left the cave and packed their supplies. Throughout the whole day, his anger never returned. Merlin thought he may have been able to handle it better than the sadness that stayed etched into his features.

"Time?" Merlin echoed, uncertain what it meant.

"Take a few days off," Arthur clarified. "Stay at Camelot, if you can, or close. I need to think about this, but I will need you there, after."

"Of course," Merlin agreed immediately, too surprised that he was getting off so easily.

Arthur frowned. "Did you really think I would punish you for protecting me?"

"No," Merlin admitted. "I thought you would punish me for lying to you."

Arthur stared at the ground. "I'm not happy about it," he said bluntly. "Not at all. I know why you think it was necessary – but you were wrong."

Merlin's eyebrows shot up. Arthur just shook his head. "Had I known, I would have shared my thoughts on magic with you much sooner." The unspoken implications hung in the air between them.

"But I _will_ put this right," Arthur vowed. "I promise."

"I believe you," Merlin said quietly.


	14. Chapter 14

Gwen waited for them by the stables, clad in a simple tunic rather than her usual royal attire. Arthur's obvious relief told Merlin just how tired he must be. They hadn't spoken the entire ride back, Arthur's promise ringing in Merlin's ears, blending into the swell of noises and impressions from the memories, which turned the slight pounding in his head to a full blown headache. He was shaken, too exhausted to think, and if Arthur felt even a fraction of what he did, he would want some quiet and rest now.

Merlin dismounted, landing unsteadily on his feet. As he leaned against the saddle, trying to find his balance, Arthur's horse was taken away by a servant and the king stood close to Gwen, head lowered, speaking to her quietly. Merlin forced himself to look away and lead his own horse towards the stables.

A figure pushed away from the wall by the entrance, half hidden by the shadows.

Mordred's sudden appearance sent a shock wave through Merlin. When he met Mordred’s searching look, he wanted to cry with relief, but he breathed deeply instead, anchoring himself in the familiar lines of Mordred’s face. He allowed the reins to be taken out of his hands and barely registered when the stable boy caught sight of them and took over with a hasty bow to Mordred and a reproachful look towards Merlin.

Mordred's hand stayed on Merlin's arm, warm and steady, the entire way back into the castle. Merlin concentrated on the steps right in front of him, headache blurring his vision; he couldn't quite tell if people were looking at him or speaking to him, and let Mordred guide him through the busy hallways like a lost child.

_Everything is fine. It went well._ He repeated the words to himself like a song, trying to push through the dull noise in his head. He tried to voice to Mordred, but his magic was too close to the surface, wanting to spill over, so he held back until they finally, finally closed the door behind them and left the world outside it.

Strong arms enveloped him as soon as the bolt clicked into the lock. Merlin smiled against Mordred's cheek. "We'll be fine," he whispered into his ear. "He wasn't angry. Just sad, I think. He said he will make it right."

Mordred pulled away to look at Merlin, hope shining in his eyes. He looked so young then, like someone who still believed in happiness, and Merlin knew with certainty that he had made the right choice.

"What happened?" Mordred asked. "You look ready to collapse."

Merlin kissed him, just a lingering press of lips. "I'm fine," he said. "Just a headache." He explained the memory sharing spell in a few garbled sentences, but it seemed enough for Mordred to understand, because he nodded and put a finger across Merlin's lips.

"Rest," he said. "I'll tell Gaius you're back. He was worried."

"I should go see him," Merlin said, but Mordred shook his head firmly.

"Sleep," he insisted. "Gaius can come here. I'll see if he can get something for your headache."

"For Arthur, too," Merlin mumbled, collapsing onto the bed only half undressed. "Or he'll be in a right mood tomorrow."

The relief in Mordred's eyes was the last thing he saw before falling asleep.

~~

He walked through the forest, a strange twilight around him. The trees' shadows danced on the ground like puppets, and Merlin looked up to find the sky in flames. No sound reached the clearing he stood on, bathed in the red glow, but he could see a war waging above. Dragons swooped across his field of vision, flames from their mouths engulfing the clouds, the shadows, and the stars, until nothing but fire remained. Merlin stared into the abyss of light, confused by the contrast of his peaceful surroundings and the violence above. He suddenly wasn't so sure if he was really looking up at the sky, or hanging upside down, looking down at the world -

"Don't worry," a familiar voice said into his ear. "It's only a dream."

Merlin turned to the woman next to him and smiled when he recognised her.

"Is that why you are here?" he asked.

Freya smiled back, the youth of her face a stark contrast against the wisdom in her eyes.

"I'm always here," she said. "You and I are part of magic, and its memory is part of us."

Merlin looked back at the dragons, and the blinding redness.

"This really happened?" he asked.

"It did," Freya confirmed. Then she frowned. "Or maybe it will. I can never remember which one is which." She looked back at Merlin, admonishment in her brown eyes. "Your headache isn't helping with that, you know."

Unthinking, Merlin raised a hand to his head. As soon as he touched it, the world started pounding, sky breaking and dissolving, forest melting into one large shadow, which swallowed the light.

~~

"Merlin! There you are."

Gaius positively beamed when Merlin walked into the physician's quarters late the next morning.

"Thanks for the potion," Merlin grinned, thinking of the vial he’d found next to his pillow, with Gaius' unmistakable handwriting. It had soothed his headache already.

The day passed in comfortable domesticity. Gaius kept him occupied with minor tasks, and they chatted idly about patients, news from the town, and potential spells for enhancing potions. Merlin knew that Gaius must have delivered the potion against headaches to Arthur last night, but didn't push for information – he quite appreciated having a day without Arthur in his head, or anywhere in sight. He could almost forget the day before.

Mordred came by in the afternoon, dropping a kiss on Merlin's cheek.

_"Arthur's locked himself away all day,"_ he voiced. _"And he's cancelled training for tomorrow morning."_

_"Good,"_ Merlin voiced back, firmly. _"I don't want him taking his frustration out on all of you."_

_"What makes you think he is-"_

Gaius interrupted their unspoken conversation with the clearing of his throat and Merlin jumped, suddenly remembering the physician's presence on the other side of the workshop. Merlin hadn't mentioned Mordred to him recently, and he probably should - _oh_.

Merlin took in Gaius' expression and realised that his mentor would have also seen the kiss that Mordred had greeted him with.

"Why don't you invite Mordred to join us for dinner later," Gaius said, very calmly.

Merlin ducked under his stare. "Uhm. Mordred?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Mordred said smoothly. "I will bring something along from the kitchens."

Gaius inclined his head, then pointedly turned his back to stow away some ingredients.

"Sorry," Merlin mouthed at Mordred.

_"You didn't tell him?"_ Mordred asked, neutral tone hiding any reaction.

_"I was going to, I just haven't had the chance,"_ Merlin replied, leaving the connection just wide enough to push through a silent apology with his words.

Mordred visibly relaxed. "It's been a busy week," he conceded, and the warmth in his voice told Merlin he was forgiven.

A week ago, the idea of Mordred joining them for dinner – even as a friend – would have sent Merlin into a panic. Now though… the last days still seemed surreal, removed, but they had shifted something in Merlin's priorities. He didn't mind bearing the consequences now that he had actually made the choices he wanted to make.

On the other hand, he couldn't quite believe his luck in just how casually Mordred was integrating himself into his life. Even though they hadn’t yet spoken about their evolved relationship, Mordred was acting without any thought to other people's opinions, and it seemed obvious he didn’t want to keep it a secret. Merlin smiled every time he thought of it.

"It's not that I'm not happy for you," Gaius said as they chopped vegetables for dinner. "But I am worried that you are setting yourself up for heartbreak."

Merlin blinked, confused.

"Lies hardly make for a good foundation in a relationship," Gaius chided, as if Merlin was acting slow on purpose. " _You_ may not think that knowing about the prophecy amounts to a lie, but if Mordred finds out, he may not agree."

"He already knows," Merlin said calmly.

Gaius dropped the carrot he was holding. Merlin caught it with his magic and put it back on the table, meeting his mentor's surprised stare.

"Well," Gaius said, after a moment of silence. "I… I am surprised that he took it so well."

"He didn't," Merlin said bluntly. "But he was raised by druids. He hates it, but he accepts it."

He felt inexplicably angry at Gaius. Why did he assume – that Merlin would lie to Mordred, or that Mordred would not care?

A hand rested on his shoulder.

"You have made a lot of important decisions of late." Gaius' voice held a note of trepidation, and he paused for a long time before speaking again. "Merlin. I fear you outgrew my advice some time ago, and maybe that is for the best. I am only an old man, and I worry about you taking risks. But I hope you do not think that I will not stand by you, even if I would have made different choices."

Merlin looked at his mentor, really looked at him, and his heart constricted. Sometimes, he forgot that Gaius had magic. Gaius had lived through the Purge, stood by Uther killing his kin, trying to reduce the damage without being caught. Merlin understood the impulse all too well – to keep lying, to keep protecting, to keep waiting for things to change. Gaius could never have taken the leap of faith that Merlin had taken. What if Arthur turned against magic the way Uther had?

_But Arthur has seen the worst of me now, and he still didn't send me away._

He knew that if he tried to share this quiet confidence with Gaius, the words would fall on deaf ears.

"I know you will," he said instead. "And I am always glad for your advice. Even when I ignore it."

He gave Gaius a wide grin and his mentor laughed, relief in his eyes, as he patted Merlin's shoulder and went back to cooking.

Dinner started as a tentative affair, with Gaius clearly taken aback by how openly Merlin and Mordred talked about their magic. Mordred, polite but determined, asked Gaius for his opinions and experience at Camelot, and his earnest interest finally swayed the physician to become more talkative.

"You must have been here before Nimueh's time," Mordred said. "Who came before her?"

"Nimueh came from a long line of High Priestesses," Gaius said. "But she was the first – and only – to make herself known to and live at the court. Perhaps that is why she ended up the way she did, corrupted by its politics."

"So who used to advise the king, on matters of magic?"

Gaius cleared his throat. "The Old Religion was generally represented by a Dragon Lord. But Uther had a… difficult relationship with them. When Nimueh joined the court, the Dragon Lords were dismissed from the council and she took their place – something she took particular pleasure in."

"Why?" Merlin asked, drawn into the story despite himself.

"Dragon Lords and High Priestesses never got along," Mordred unexpectedly answered him. "They both believed they represented the Old Religion, but tended to clash in their interpretation of it."

Gaius nodded. "If I remember correctly, the Druids tend to favour the High Priestess' views."

Mordred ducked his head, clearly thinking of Morgana.

"I thought Druids didn't take sides?" Merlin interjected.

"Exactly," Gaius said dryly. "Very much the opposite of Dragon Lords." He raised his eyebrow in a silent question this time, and Merlin just shook his head. He hadn't yet told Mordred about that particular inheritance of his, but he didn't want to change the subject – he should have asked Gaius about this a long time ago.

"Did Dragon Lords belong to some sort of order?" he persisted.

Gaius shook his head. "I'm no expert – but the families tended to disagree with each other, and kept feuds running over generations. A few had been granted noble status by previous Kings, which became a sore point. From what I saw, they trained their own and each followed their family's traditions."

Merlin felt a pang of disappointment. "But there must have been a common purpose to them," he heard himself say.

Gaius' mouth turned into a sad smile. "I'm afraid that whatever the goddess' original intention was for their race, Dragon Lords became bargaining tools for kings and nobles. Dragons could win wars – or prevent them – so a Dragon Lord at your service was considered a highly desirable weapon."

Mordred was watching their exchange curiously. "Is this about Morgana?" he asked. "I was wondering how she managed to acquire a dragon without the allegiance of a Dragon Lord."

Merlin's stomach dropped. He heard a clattering sound and realised his spoon had fallen from his hand, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"She _what_?" he asked, staring.

Mordred went still at the tone of Merlin's voice; Merlin couldn't blame him – it sounded unfamiliar even to his own ears, like someone a lot more dangerous had taken over his body.

"There is a dragon that stays with Morgana," Mordred said, carefully. "It is young, I think, not yet fully grown. It sleeps by her bed and follows her around."

_Aithusa_.

The irrational anger and protectiveness surged in Merlin's chest again. He closed his eyes and battled it back down.

"A white dragon?" he asked.

"Yes."

Blindly, Merlin reached for Mordred's hand under the table and found it, pressing it with both of his. The contact gave him the strength to push down the unfamiliar emotions with his magic and silence them, forcing himself to think instead. When he had seen Aithusa back in the tunnels, she must have been there with Morgana. Something had seemed wrong with her, but he couldn't know that it had been Morgana's doing – she held no power over Aithusa and surely, the dragon would have left if Morgana hurt her-

"Merlin." Gaius' voice brought him back to the table. He opened his eyes, finding the physician staring at him. "Can Morgana communicate with this dragon? This may be the end of your anonymity."

"Why?" Mordred was looking from Merlin to Gaius. "What am I missing here?"

"I hatched Aithusa," Merlin explained. "But she can't speak," he continued, turning to Gaius. "At least she couldn't the last time I saw her. I doubt _I'm_ the one in danger here, she probably barely remembers me, never mind my name."

_"You're a Dragon Lord?"_ Mordred's voice sounded in Merlin's head, distracting him from Gaius.

_"Yes,"_ he replied in kind. _"That was part of that long story I never got around to telling you. But I had no idea Aithusa was with Morgana."_

He looked at Mordred and saw him connect the puzzle pieces, realization dawning in his eyes, his mind reaching the conclusion that Merlin had arrived at moments ago.

"I can get to her now," he said, to Gaius' confusion, and Mordred held his gaze and nodded, firmly.

"I'm coming with you."


	15. Chapter 15

They nearly argued over whether or not to tell Arthur. 

"You've just stopped lying to him," Mordred insisted. "At least don't give him a chance to think you are going behind his back."

"He will want to come along."

"Ask him not to."

"No," Merlin replied, tone final. He saw Mordred's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but the knight rallied quickly. "You know that none of this would be an issue if you weren't afraid of your own magic. If _you_ can't even trust it, you can't expect Arthur to."

Merlin winced. "It's not that. I trust my magic more than I trust myself most of the time-"

"It _is_ you, Merlin."

"I know." Merlin ran a hand through his hair, then reached out and rested it in Mordred's waist. "But this isn't my magic. I've barely used whatever Dragon Lord abilities I inherited, and every time I do, it feels like I'm letting someone take over control. Someone I don't know."

Mordred's brow furrowed, his determination breaking slightly. "It would feel unfamiliar if you have barely used it. But in the end – it's still you." His hand reached for Merlin's cheek, affection pushing the seriousness from his eyes.

Merlin lay his hand on top of Mordred's. "I'm not sure," he said softly. He pushed his magic out lightly, and drew Mordred in when he responded in kind. He thought back to when Mordred first told him that Morgana had a dragon and the unfamiliar anger rose up immediately – he had to force himself not to push it back.

_"Stop fighting it,"_ Mordred voiced. The kiss he drew Merlin into distracted him enough to do just that.

"The Elders always used to say to me – if you fight it, it will fight back," Mordred said when they broke apart. "It's only anger. It's nothing you haven't felt before. Let it be."

Merlin realised it was simmering more quietly now, but he thought that probably was more the result of the other feelings that kissing Mordred pushed to the forefront.

"I still don't want Arthur there," he said. "But I will ask Gaius to tell him, after I've gone. At least then he won't be able to come after me."

"Us," Mordred corrected, and Merlin grinned at the stern tone.

"Us," he agreed easily. "But Gaius won't be telling Arthur that part. If you want him to know about your magic, you'll have to tell him yourself."

Mordred sighed, and bowed his head. "I can live with that."

~~

They stood side by side in the clearing early the next morning, dawn still hours away. The short few hours of sleep dragged at Merlin's eyelids, and the cold dew clinging to the grass sent shivers through his body. The half-moon emerged between clouds only to be obscured again, light and shadows chasing each other on the ground.

Merlin closed his eyes and tried to focus on his own pulsing heartbeat, the thrum of his magic under his skin, and the slower, underlying current that he now knew was what he shared with the dragons. He had never called Aithusa before – but she was _his_ , he thought – he let that possessive feeling take over and tried to remember how Aithusa's name had first come to him.

He could feel the roar building up in his throat and let it out, calling into the night sky. He never quite knew what words he spoke, but they all said the same thing: _come to me_ , starting as an order, turning into a request, ending as an offering. He didn't know why he needed all three of them, just that he did; with Kilgharrah, too, he felt like he had to establish their link every time, as a Dragon Lord, as an ally, and as a friend.

_Do you really still consider him a friend?_

With the last wisps of dragon tongue still in his mouth, Merlin realised that he did – he could almost see the dragon from three sides, images overlaying. The Dragon Lord in him was furious, the ally disappointed, but the friend knew that Kilgharrah followed his own ideas of right and wrong, and wasn't trying to do him harm.

Merlin breathed deeply and opened his eyes.

"That was quite something," Mordred said, voice scratchy. He walked up behind Merlin and wrapped his arms around his waist. Merlin leaned into him.

"It might take her a while to get here," he warned. "She's not as strong."

"Then we'll wait," Mordred replied, unconcerned, pulling Merlin closer for warmth. The knight had left his chainmail and armour at the castle, his sword the only reminder of what they had set out to do.

They stood in silence until Merlin spotted movement in the sky, just a glint of moonlight reflecting off white scales. He tipped his head back onto Mordred's shoulder and watched Aithusa's unsteady flight towards them with fascination and dread. Her body moved up and down erratically, as if she had to heave it up with every beat of her wings. Her descent held as much grace as Merlin's sword fighting – she spiraled down and all but crashed in front of them.

Merlin couldn't help but wince when Aithusa straightened up and faced him. The clouds had cleared and the moonlight revealed what he had only begun to glimpse the last time they met. Her wings, still too small for her, pressed into an unnatural shape, bones angling them impossibly close to her body. She had grown more scales, but patchily, with stretches of reddened skin between them, unprotected against the elements. Her long neck pulled her off-balance even on the ground, and she crouched low on her hind legs to keep herself upright, giving the impression of cowering.

_What happened to you?_

Merlin wanted to rush to her, but he stepped forward just enough to leave Mordred's embrace.

"Can you speak?" he asked Aithusa, keeping his voice low and calm.

The dragon just stared at him balefully.

Merlin sighed, then dredged up the simmering power he had let sink away, and spoke again, his voice no longer entirely his. "Tell me if you understand what I am saying."

Aithusa bristled visibly, then nodded her head, front legs pushing away from Merlin and shuffling backwards on the grass.

"Stay," Merlin said, and she stopped. "Let me look at your wings please."

There was no point adding the 'please', he knew – she couldn't disobey the command whether she wanted to or not. Swallowing his unease, he approached her left wing, giving her the chance to keep her head away from him. He looked down at the gnarled mess of her joints and wished Gaius was here. The physician might not know anything about dragon anatomy, but he definitely would have some ideas on how to figure this out.

Merlin reached out and placed a hand on the base of the wing, where the tendons bunched together so tightly that it had to be causing pain. Aithusa didn't move, and now that he was so close, Merlin could tell something was definitely off. He could barely feel the dragon's presence, and it unsettled him more than he understood why.

Carefully, he let tendrils of magic run over the wing, circling the joint and spreading out, looking for anything that would explain what he was seeing. To his immense surprise, Aithusa unfolded her wing unasked, allowing him easier access. Merlin put both his palms against her wing and pushed his magic out steadily, growing immediately concerned when he met no resistance. Not only that, but the dragon seemed to be absorbing Merlin's magic like a sponge – he could feel it being sucked away as soon as it pushed past the leathery skin. He frowned, eyes closed in concentration, and tried to follow where it disappeared to, latching an anchor onto a ball of magic that sunk into Aithusa's wing, straight towards her heart, and then out-

Merlin's eyes flew open at a touch against his side. He turned his head and stilled. Aithusa's head was inches from his face, straining to get closer to his hands. And his magic. He let go of the anchor and dropped his hands.

"What have you done?" he asked her. "What is taking your magic?"

Aithusa dropped her head away. Merlin sighed. "Answer me," he half growled and watched as the dragon struggled against his command and lost. Images appeared in his mind - _Morgana lying on the ground, bleeding from a wound in her abdomen - a white light engulfing her, healing her, binding her to Aithusa._

Merlin held up a hand as if to shield himself, and the images stopped.

_"Merlin?"_ Mordred's soft voice sounded only in his head, but Aithusa swivelled around to look straight at the knight.

"She bound herself to Morgana when healing her," Merlin said. "But it’s still draining her magic. Does Morgana know this?" he turned to the dragon. Aithusa shook her head, without prompting this time.

Merlin sighed and let dragon tongue infuse into his next words. "Take us to her."

They untied their horses and rode into the forest, following their unwilling guide. Aithusa flew in short bursts, occasionally hopping alongside them when the terrain allowed for it. Merlin hated the sight – flying clearly caused her pain, and despite the many breaks they took to allow her to rest, her head drooped lower every time she landed in front of them unsteadily. Mordred and Merlin rode for what seemed like hours, and the sky turned pink with the first rays of sunrise when they left the woods and reached the mountains of Ascetir. Just when Merlin thought they would have to stop again, Aithusa suddenly sped up, making to take off again. Her eagerness betrayed her – Merlin called her back, and the look of pure loathing he received confirmed that Morgana must be close.

"Show me where she is," he commanded.

Aithusa almost slammed the images into his mind – the pathway up between the mountains, the old watch tower at its top, the window through which Aithusa entered the circular room that oversaw the path.

_"She'll see us coming,"_ Merlin voiced to Mordred. He described the watch tower's position.

_"Aren't you going to sever their connection?"_ Mordred replied, looking at Merlin steadily.

"I-" Merlin realised he had no reply. Now that they knew where Morgana was, he had no reason to allow her to continue draining Aithusa, voluntary or not.

"I don't know what it will do to them," he answered instead, but he already knew that it didn't matter - he was here to kill Morgana. The bond would be broken, either way.

Mordred's knee touched his as the knight urged his horse closer to Merlin's. Wordlessly, he took Merlin's hand.

Merlin looked at Aithusa, who was turned away from him and staring up the path, body poised as if straining against an invisible force. _I should have looked after her_ , he thought, guilt constricting his chest.

"Aithusa," he said, dragon tongue making his words reverberate. "Break the connection that binds you to Morgana. Now."

Aithusa's long neck whipped around so fast that she had to open her wings to stop herself from falling over. She opened her jaw and _screamed_ at Merlin; he couldn't call it anything else, although the shrill sound bore no resemblance to Kilgharrah's roar, and barely held any strength despite the obvious fury that Aithusa pushed into it.

"Quiet," Merlin snapped at her, entirely in dragon tongue now. "Do as I say."

Aithusa sunk into herself, wings folding up again, body deflating and head dropping. She made a low, keening sound in the back of her throat, then she opened her jaw wide and bent her neck down impossibly. The blue flame hit her own torso, just under the chest, and for a second or two, they could see a thin line that connected to Aithusa like an umbilical cord, twisting into the air in front of her – the flames engulfed it and it shone brighter and brighter until it snapped, and vanished completely. Aithusa dropped down low, hunched over on the path, and didn't move.

Merlin and Mordred shared an alarmed look, and dismounted in silent agreement. Mordred tied their horses to the side of the path, and Merlin kept an eye on Aithusa, who raised her head very slightly to watch him. He didn't know if she was looking for a moment to escape, or attack, or was simply tired.

"Let's go," Merlin said, and started his way up the steep path between the mountains.

"Are we leaving her?" Mordred asked uncertainly when the dragon didn't budge.

Merlin shrugged, not looking at either of them. "She will come. She knows we're after Morgana."

They climbed the steep path, bending low to balance on its loose stones and dirt, and clinging to the cliff for support when a sharp turn took their horses out of view. Merlin wiped drops of sweat from his face and stopped to look ahead, hand shielding his face from the rising sun.

"Are you ok?" Mordred’s voice from behind him was tentative.

Merlin nodded. "It's not far now." He turned to Mordred and wished there was time – time to think about things other than Arthur, or Morgana, or the look on Aithusa’s face. "I'm glad you came," he instead forced out.

Unexpectedly, Mordred pulled Merlin close by the waist, leaning his head against his shoulder.

"Would be nice to spend some time together without worrying about you getting yourself killed," Mordred's breath ghosted over Merlin's ear and Merlin laughed, surprised by the sudden show of affection after their tense journey.

"I was just thinking that," he replied. "Well, something like that." He bit his lip.

“We’ll find time,” Mordred said, pulling away to look at him.

“Not much,” Merlin said softly. “Things will be mad now, one way or another. If Arthur wants my help – you know I’ll have to-”

“Of course you do,” Mordred interrupted. “It’s fine. I don’t expect – don’t worry about it. We should keep going.” He gestured at the path ahead, looking resolute, and Merlin saw a glint of _something_ on his eyes. He didn’t like it.

He nodded, slowly, not moving, more reluctant than ever. “Ok,” he said. “But we’ll talk about this. After.”

_Yes, let’s have a conversation about our relationship after we kill the woman who once saved your life._ Merlin shook the sarcastic thought away and pushed ahead.

The watch tower came into view after another sharp turn, perched above them on the rocks. The path turned into stone steps, carved into the side of the mountain, worn down by wind and weather. Merlin wondered when this had been built – the border to Mercia was at least half a day’s ride away, and no main roads led through this part of the kingdom; it couldn’t have been in use within his lifetime. He kept craning his neck, expecting Morgana to lean over the side of the tower and attack them, but the tower remained eerily still, with only the wind whistling through the bottleneck of the mountain path.

Finally, they made it to the entrance, and the cliff side that had blocked out the light gave way to a dazzling view over an untouched mountain range, sharp peaks and dizzying troughs drenched in the sun. Staring at the spectacular view, a detached part of Merlin’s mind wondered whether Morgana appreciated the beauty of this, had maybe even chosen her hiding place because of it.

Carefully, with Mordred holding onto Merlin’s arm, they stepped through the open doorway. A winding staircase led to the top, and though Merlin vaguely recalled the shape of the room from Aithusa’s memories, he didn’t know where it would emerge. He started up the steps, treading as lightly as he could, his breath too loud in his ears, the hand on his arm the only reminder that he wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t until halfway up the tower that he heard a noise, so quiet he wondered whether he imagined it, just the hint of the hum of someone’s voice. He slowed down and ducked low when the second doorway came into sight.

_“Can you see her?”_ Mordred voiced. Merlin shook his head and risked another glance into the room a few steps ahead. Circular walls and a ledge to an open window – a makeshift bed in the corner, and a bundle of clothes next to it-

The bundle of clothes moved and Merlin nearly lost his footing in shock. Mordred’s hand on his back steadied him, and he stared into the room, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The sunlight streaming through the window made it hard to see, but Morgana wasn’t sleeping, just lying on the ground, curled into herself.

Merlin heard another low sound, and this time he recognised it as one of pain.

_“I think she is injured,”_ he voiced back to Mordred. He was about to move forward when the unmistakable sound of flapping wings approached. Aithusa blocked out the light as she dropped through the window, landing in the middle of the room a loud thump. She didn’t seem to notice Merlin or Mordred, attention entirely on Morgana, the low keening sound in her throat returning as she hopped over to the figure on the floor, wings blocking her from view.

Merlin stood up and walked up the remaining steps, hoping that the sound of the creaking floorboards would be drowned out by Aithusa’s shuffling.

“Aithusa,” Morgana whispered.

Merlin saw her now, despite Aithusa shielding some of her body, saw the hands pressed into her stomach, and the dark stain of blood on the floor beneath her. Aithusa raised her head and opened her jaw wide.

“Do not heal her,” Merlin said in dragon tongue, without thinking, and then moved back out of sight when Morgana flinched and twisted on the ground, trying to look behind her.

“Who is there?” she demanded, but her voice barely reached above a whisper. Merlin didn’t answer and Aithusa stayed frozen between them.

For a long time, nothing but Morgana’s laboured breathing filled the room. Then Merlin heard her take in a deep breath, forcing out her voice.

“Emrys?”

Merlin’s insides turned cold. Morgana sounded so _scared_ , and suddenly, he couldn’t move.

Quiet footsteps approached from behind and Mordred walked right past him, around Aithusa, into Morgana’s line of sight. He crouched down in front of her.

“It’s only me,” he said softly, almost gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Emrys broke your bond to the dragon. It was keeping you alive, but it was hurting her.”

Morgana gasped, and coughed, mumbling something too quiet for Merlin to hear.

“Shh. It’s ok. She’s going to be all right now.”

Carefully, Mordred unsheathed the sword from his side. He flashed a look at Merlin, and there was no emotion in it; before Merlin could understand what was happening, or even look away, Mordred sank the blade through Morgana’s heart with one clean stroke.


	16. Chapter 16

They stumbled out of the watch tower into the brilliant sunlight. Merlin’s ears rang from Aithusa’s shrill cries as they walked; he wished he could cover them with his hands but he didn’t dare let go of the stone wall next to the narrow path. The sound grew fainter, and finally stopped. Aithusa had either realised the pointlessness of crying or exhausted her throat.

They reached their horses in what seemed like moments. Merlin had no memory of the steep mountain path that had taken such a long time to climb up, and looked up to make sure they had really come this far. When he turned back, Mordred gave him a searching look, and he forced a smile – it seemed the right thing to do. After all, Mordred had come all this way with him to kill Morgana-

_Morgana_.

Something broke through the numbness then, a memory of a young woman at a feast, turning heads with her elaborate dress and teasing Arthur with a mischievous smile. Merlin shoved the memory away.

They rode back at a much swifter speed than they had come, no longer having to wait on Aithusa. The sun beat down on their backs until they reached the forest, where they slowed down to allow the horses to find their footing. Merlin stared at the shadowy green ahead and remembered the time he had ridden through the forest to find the druids and Morgana – and the glimpse he had caught of her, her body shaking from relief and happiness after so many weeks of fearing her own powers.

She may have been ok, had things gone differently that day. It was a past that never came to pass, but Merlin mourned it anyway, mourned the person Morgana would have become. He tried to stave off the relief that threatened to crash down over his grief. He shouldn't feel relieved that someone was dead, even if it meant the end of years of fighting and violence, even if it fulfilled a prophecy he had so dreaded – without him having to spill any blood himself.

Merlin glanced at Mordred. The knight hadn't tried to initiate any conversation, just kept giving him quick looks, as if to check on him. Unlike Merlin, who struggled for composure, he showed no signs of distress – pale face eerily collected and grey eyes alert, he rode purposefully, as if they were on a hunting trip or errand. Had anyone met them now, they would never have guessed that he had just killed a High Priestess.

Mordred met Merlin's gaze then, taking in his expression. Merlin didn't know what his face showed, but Mordred clearly interpreted some of it correctly.

He sighed, and spoke, voice low and barely audible over the sound of hooves and crunching leaves.

"I am not going to lose sleep over it, Merlin. The Morgana I cared about has been gone for a long time."

Merlin looked away, unsettled by how calm Mordred sounded. He could still see Mordred’s face, just before he had pushed the blade through Morgana's heart, expressionless and blank-

_Just like it will be when he puts a sword through Arthur's body._

Merlin shut his eyes, horrified at the thought, but now that he had allowed it, he couldn't stop the others following it. Where did this coldness in Mordred come from, and where would it lead? Could he really take someone's life without any regret? If that was true – how well did Merlin really know him?

He forced himself to speak. "She was still part of her. It's not like they were two separate people."

Mordred shrugged. "They were and they weren't. After all she did, do you really think she could ever have gone back to who she was before?"

Merlin didn’t answer. He knew Mordred was right, but something about it felt _wrong_ , deep in his bones, and he couldn’t explain it.

_What do you want? You made him do this. You should be glad he feels no regret._

Disgust rose in Merlin’s body, and his own skin suddenly felt contaminated, distasteful. Here he was, washing his hands of any guilt, blaming Mordred for doing what he himself hadn’t been able to – and doing it because of Merlin, no less. _For_ Merlin.

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” he voiced to Mordred, throat too tight to speak. _“I just-”_ He stopped and broke the connection.

They rode on in silence for a long time. When they finally took a break by a small stream and sat on a patch of moss, letting their horses drink, Merlin took Mordred’s hand in his own. He half expected Mordred to pull away but he didn’t – he instead shuffled closer and leaned against Merlin, head resting on his shoulder. For a moment, Merlin allowed himself to imagine that nothing unusual had happened today, that this was just a day out, just time together.

“Do you think anyone will even notice we are gone?” Merlin murmured, head turned so that his lips brushed against Mordred’s hair as he spoke.

“Elyan will, I was going to join him in the lower town today,” Mordred replied, sounding unconcerned. “As for you, everyone will probably assume you’re with Arthur.”

“Gaius will cover for you if Elyan asks.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not like he won’t find out soon.” Mordred turned his head until their noses touched. His guarded expression had faded – replaced by something tentative, unsure.

Merlin kissed him, his eyes falling shut, his hand still holding Mordred’s. He felt more than he heard the quiet sound escaping Mordred and let his lips linger before pulling back. The grief, the revulsion, the relief, it all sat in his stomach, painful and heavy. But now that he looked at Mordred, he recognised him again, and realised that he too was hiding pain. The kiss had clearly surprised him enough for the front to break, just enough to betray how little he believed Merlin to feel affection for him right now.

Merlin wanted to be better, if only to raise Mordred’s expectations of him. He snuck his arm around Mordred’s waist and leaned against him while they waited.

By the time they reached Camelot, dark grey clouds covered the sun, and a chill had appeared in the air. They made it inside the castle just as the rain started, the ensuing hustle and activity in the hallways covering their strange (and in Mordred’s case, blood-stained) entrance. They split up in the corridor to Mordred’s chambers with no more than a press of each other’s hands, and Merlin wove between servants, half expecting someone to call his name every time he turned a corner. But no one stopped him – as soon as he took the stairs down to the physician’s quarters, the buzz abated.

“Merlin!”

Gaius looked so startled at his appearance that Merlin instinctively looked down himself for any sign of what could have alarmed him.

“I wasn’t expecting you back for a while yet.” Gaius ambled over in his usual unhurried limp, but his eyes flicked back and forth over Merlin’s face and appearance far less calmly. “Did you find her?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, failing to meet Gaius’ gaze when he added, “Have you spoken to Arthur?”

“I haven’t had the chance,” Gaius replied, with unexpected readiness, as if he had hoped Merlin would ask. “Not that I haven’t tried, but it seems the king will see no one, and hasn’t left his chambers all day.”

Merlin’s head snapped up in surprise.

“However,” Gaius continued, “I am reasonably certain that he was joined both by the queen and Geoffrey at some point, and that they are discussing the laws on magic.”

“What?” Merlin asked, his heartbeat speeding up. “And what do you mean, reasonably certain?”

“I listened at the door,” the physician explained, without the slightest hint of shame. “Not very long, mind you. The guards have no respect nowadays.”

Merlin bit down a grin. “I see,” he said, then sobered. “Well, Arthur might forgive the interruption if you tell him Morgana is dead.”

Gaius straightened, gaze sharp. “My boy,” he started, voice gravel, then sighed, and shook himself. “You are right. I had better tell him right away.”

“Remember not to mention-” Merlin started, and Gaius waved away his concern.

“For all I know, you went all by yourself,” he said.

As he watched Gaius leave rather hurriedly, Merlin thought that he hadn’t seen his mentor so animated for a long time, especially for someone who had disapproved of Merlin’s choices so thoroughly.

_The laws on magic._ Merlin looked around the now empty workshop, the noises from the courtyard a familiar disturbance to his ears, and sat down heavily on the workbench. His mind threatened to shut down – too much had happened, too fast, and the future seemed more uncertain than ever. He knew what he _should_ feel, and maybe, once everything had sunk in, he might be able to still. After all this time, they had reached the moment he had dreamed of. He would not have to hide forever. He wouldn’t have to keep watching others die to keep his secret.

Merlin tried to find happiness inside him, and came up empty; he still heard, in his mind, the fear in Morgana’s voice when she had said the name ‘Emrys’. One block had tumbled, and now all the others were falling, out of his control, and he didn’t know what his world would look like when they came to a rest.

Had he ever had any control, really? The prophecies were unravelling in front of him. Arthur was becoming the king he was destined to be, one step further towards his death at the hands of Mordred. Merlin had defeated Morgana’s darkness, and maybe now he would become Emrys, the person he should have been all along. They had been pulled along by an invisible hand this whole time, trying either to fight or find happiness in the inevitable.

Maybe they were all fooling themselves, thinking they had any choice at all.

The heavens had opened by the time Gaius returned. Merlin shook himself out of his lethargy and ran to help the other servants – there were tables and chairs to be moved, damp washing to be rescued, tents to be dismantled quickly. Merlin was drenched to the core when they finished, but Gaius asked him for help on his house visits, so he kept going, distributing vials and checking on patients.

The rain and activity did what the quiet hadn’t been able to – they shook him out of his stupor. By the time Merlin made it back to his room and changed out of his clothes, he felt infinitely cleaner, and more human. Mood lifting and feeling warmer in a dry set of clothes, Merlin opened his door and headed out to start cooking dinner.

Gwen was waiting for him in the main room.

She had clearly just crossed the yard, because her hair, half braided and twisted into an elaborate bun, glistened with raindrops, which also rolled off her dark grey cloak. Her face was set, no trace of the usual gentleness, no familiar half smile at the corners of her mouth.

They stared at each other across the room.

“Arthur told me about your magic,” Gwen said. The words came out clipped.

“Gwen,” Merlin whispered, his gut clenching painfully.

“Merlin,” Gwen cut across him. “ _Why_ did I have to hear it from Arthur?”

“Gwen, I’m so sorry.” Merlin replied, distraught when her face remained hardened. “I wanted to tell you, so many times-”

“Why didn’t you?” The hurt in Gwen’s voice was nearly worse than the harshness. “What did I ever do to make you think I could not be trusted?”

“That’s not – I _do_ think you can be trusted.” Merlin’s sight blurred as tears collected in his eyes. “I couldn’t tell _anyone_. Please, Gwen. I didn’t want you to have to lie for me, and put you in danger, Morgana was already trying to hurt you-”

At the mention of Morgana’s name, Gwen’s expression shattered. She raced forward and for the smallest fraction of a second, Merlin thought she might hit him, but the next, she had thrown her arms around him and was sobbing into his shoulder.

“You – _idiot_ ,” she gasped out. “Fighting her all by yourself, what did you think you were doing, she could have killed you-”

Merlin laughed through his tears, tightening his arms around Gwen, the raindrops on her coat cold against his skin, sending goosebumps down his body. But the warmth in his chest burned through it all, because this was Gwen, Gwen who had called him brave when he first told Arthur to stop being a bully, Gwen who had taught him how to assemble armour, Gwen who had lost her father and one of her best friends to magic and Gwen – _Gwen didn’t hate him_.

“’m’not that easy to kill,” he muttered into her shoulder.

They talked, _really_ talked, while Merlin chopped up vegetables, and made stew. Gwen admitted that she hadn’t been able to face him the day before.

“But then Gaius told us that Morgana was dead, and I had to see you. I felt guilty about her for _so long_ , Merlin,” she said, perched on the workbench, her purple dress splaying out in front of her. “I kept thinking I should have seen it coming. We used to be so close, and then she stopped telling me about her nightmares, and then when Morgause turned up-” Gwen wrinkled her nose in distaste. “She was clearly after Morgana from the start. You should have seen how she treated me, and the other servants. And Morgana didn’t say a word against it, when she would never have stood for it before.”

“She was definitely after Morgana,” Merlin agreed, “though she never seemed to care for her before her magic developed.”

“Do you think we could have stopped her? From going that way?” Gwen had clearly posed herself the question before.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said honestly. He remembered what Mordred had said, three nights ago, about Morgana not forgiving, and not caring for others. He thought about prophecies coming true. “I used to think so. But I’m not sure anymore.”

The stew was bubbling away, and Merlin was explaining Dragoon, and the usefulness of aging potions, to an astonished and half-laughing Gwen, when the door opened and Gaius walked in. He stopped dead at the sight in front of him. “My lady,” he greeted, clearly taken aback by the queen’s presence.

Gwen nodded at him. “Gaius. I am just here to talk to Merlin. Although-” She looked at the darkened sky outside, still heavy with rain. “-it is getting late. I should rejoin Arthur.”

The mention of the king reminded Merlin what they _hadn’t_ talked about. “What have you two been-” he started, but Gwen shook her head before he even finished the question.

“I can’t tell you.” She looked tired all of a sudden. “But you will find out soon, I promise.”

Merlin walked her across the courtyard, but Gwen bade him farewell on the other side, insisting he go back. “You should get some rest, Merlin. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

With that cryptic comment, and one last press of his arm, she gathered up her dress and hurried up the stairs.

Merlin wandered back to the physician’s chambers slowly, thinking of their conversation, the warmth that Gwen had ignited in his chest still flickering. The realization that he wasn’t alone, and that all these people around him were more than puppets of fate had broken through the fog of destinies and prophecies in his brain, and lifted his spirits.

It was pitch black outside by the time Merlin had finished dinner and left Gaius for the night. He tiptoed through the corridors half-blind, and slipped through the door to Mordred’s chamber as noiselessly as he could.

“It’s just me,” he whispered when he heard movement on the bed; he saw Mordred sit up, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Not quite asleep yet,” Mordred mumbled, voice a little slurred, making Merlin smile. He clambered into the bed and Mordred pulled him close immediately, his body heat radiating through his back.

“Wasn’t expecting you,” he said, through a yawn.

Merlin burrowed closer to him, thrown by the surprised tone, unsure if it was a hint that he wasn’t welcome. “You can always kick me out.”

Mordred chuckled. “I’d have you here every night if it was up to me.”

Merlin tightened his arm around him, pressing his nose into his hair, a shiver running through his body at the words. “That’s fine by me,” he said softly, and Mordred pulled Merlin’s hand towards his lips, kissing his knuckles without a word.


	17. Chapter 17

It felt surreal to have breakfast with Mordred, sun rising outside, rather than rushing to wake Arthur, to clean his chambers and dress him. Merlin’s mind kept wandering, listing off all the things he would have to do when he got back to work, only to realise that they would have been done by someone else.

“It’s so strange,” he told Mordred. “I shouldn’t miss chores. I _hate_ chores.”

Mordred laughed. “Are you sure you don’t just miss insulting Arthur?”

Merlin tried to punch Mordred in the arm, but he caught his hand mid-way. A rap on the door interrupted them.

“Yes?” Mordred called, and Merlin hastily withdrew his hand.

The door creaked open to reveal George, who gave a half bow to Mordred.

“Sir Mordred,” he said and, for the fraction of a second, his eyes flickered over to Merlin, before returning to the knight, “the king requests your presence at a Round Table meeting.”

“Thank you,” Mordred replied smoothly. “I’ll be there right away.”

George bowed again, and gave a nod to Merlin before leaving, closing the door behind him. Merlin blinked. George had looked utterly composed, showing absolutely no reaction to Arthur’s manservant having breakfast with a knight instead of doing his job.

“Huh,” he said, bewildered.

Mordred coughed, only partially covering his laugh.

“What?” Merlin demanded. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just-” Mordred shook his head, still amused. “You reminded me why no one ever guessed that you are the most powerful sorcerer alive.”

Merlin glowered, and Mordred grinned at him. “Well, now _that’s_ positively terrifying.”

He leaned forward and kissed Merlin, who decided that he didn’t perhaps have to reply to the provocation _this very second_. Instead, he pulled at Mordred’s tunic, and Mordred obligingly slid out of his chair and onto Merlin’s lap, deepening the kiss.

When they broke apart for air, Mordred’s breathing was uneven and his cheeks tinged with red.

“Round Table meeting,” Merlin reminded him, slightly dazed, then blurted out: “I really like kissing you.”

Mordred flushed properly this time. “I’m glad,” he said shyly, the closest to embarrassment Merlin had ever seen him. Merlin watched Mordred straighten out his clothes and put on his sword belt, feeling a little wistful that he hadn’t been asked along, wondering what Arthur would tell his knights that he didn’t want to tell him.

As if reading his mind, Mordred promised “I’ll tell you what happens later,” and took off down the corridor at a run. Merlin grinned, knowing that he would probably still be late.

He found himself by the lake without really planning to go. It still rained, though not as heavily. Merlin tied his horse to a tree and sat by the shore, just breathing, letting the sound of the waves and the pitter patter of the rain calm him. He kept himself warm and dry with his magic, water running off the invisible shield that surrounded his clothes and his hair. The constant buzz in his mind finally abated. He inhaled deeply, listened to the rain, and let his eyes fall shut.

The weight of his feelings for Mordred had startled him again this morning, an invasion he had neither anticipated nor prepared for. He hadn’t expected to fall in love with a man; but that part was perhaps the least surprising. Though he and Will never saw each other as more than friends, they had kissed, and slept together a few times – they’d trusted each other, and there hadn’t been much choice for a partner in Ealdor (or, in Will’s less delicate words, “no one I’d risk getting pregnant for a fuck”). Merlin had always found the fact that Will was a man irrelevant, and he couldn’t help but notice that Will did not, and it kept their encounters few and far between.

When he met Freya, he thought he finally felt love. As soon as he saw her, out in that cage, the urge to help her and protect her from the world had overwhelmed Merlin – and it never went away. He’d been almost delirious with it. The few shy kisses they had traded paled compared to the future he had built in his mind, away from Camelot, leaving behind a destiny he didn’t understand and trading it with a much simpler happiness. A vague happiness, in an undefined place, just him and Freya, as that seemed all they could possibly need. Finding out that he had been wrong about her magic, finding out that Freya didn’t need protecting against the world, but from herself, didn’t dampen the fantasy.

Really, Merlin thought, Freya could have been anything, anyone, and he would have loved her. He looked out at the lake in which he had laid her dying body to rest, the memory so vivid he could almost see her pale face. In his dream a few nights ago, she had seemed so calm and wise. What was it like, to be the Lady of the Lake? How much of her was still Freya? How much of her had ever been, since the curse had been placed on her? Only now, far removed from her and his initial feelings, did he start asking these questions, wishing he had cared enough to know her before.

Merlin’s horse gave a gentle whinny. The rain intensified, disturbing the surface of the lake constantly now, making the air blurry with droplets. Merlin pulled his magic tighter around him, a warming blanket against the chill.

In many of the same ways, he had never known Morgana either, he thought. She’d been Uther’s ward to him, Gwen’s friend, Arthur’s – something. _I liked her for annoying Arthur._ Merlin winced at his own confession _._ It seemed so childish, in retrospect.

Before finding out about her magic, he had barely ever spoken to Morgana. Yet, if the threat of the prophecies hadn’t hung over him, he would have trusted her without reservations, would have revealed his magic and done all he could to help her control her own. He’d always assumed that it would have been enough, and that she would have made the choices he considered right, but he hadn’t thought about why. Morgana, to him, had become a reflection of his own past, or a future foretold by crystals and dragons. He hadn’t really ever looked at _her_ , and was starting to think he knew her less than anyone.

Still, her impact on Camelot had been such that her death felt momentous, and its lack of consequence disoriented Merlin. Only a handful of people even knew what had happened, and they had barely spoken of it. He thought of Morgana’s body up on that lonely tower, wondering whether Aithusa was still guarding it. He would have to call Aithusa soon, he knew, and make sure it was retrieved, but he didn’t know if Arthur wanted a burial. He didn’t understand why Arthur hadn’t even asked about it. Merlin had expected an announcement at the very least, but not a whisper had reached him.

Merlin sighed and tipped his face back to look at the sky. Dark grey clouds hung low and impenetrable above the lake. Even with his magic protecting him against the wind and rain, he started feeling the cold creep into his bones. He slowly stretched out his legs, and pushed himself up. His eyes didn’t leave the surface of the lake, transformed like a boiling potion, its former light grey turned nearly black.

“Goodbye, Freya,” he whispered, and finally tore himself away.

The Round Table Meeting would be in full swing now, Merlin thought as he got back onto his horse. He realised that he hadn’t asked Arthur to keep his magic a secret; the king may well be telling the knights about it right now. For a moment, fear constricted Merlin’s throat, and the magic that kept the rain off flared and faltered, a few droplets soaking into his hair and rolling down his face and neck.

Merlin caught himself, steadying the shield. Arthur had promised to make things right. If it took telling the truth to the knights, then so be it. He wondered if Arthur hadn’t invited him for this very reason; not to slight him, but to spare him from negative reactions. It seemed a very Arthur thing to do.

Merlin smiled to himself. They had a long road ahead, and Morgana’s death still weighed on him, but he couldn’t help but feel fiercely proud of each one of them: his king, his friends, his lover, his family. In the many years of just him and his mum, he had never dared hope to one day have this many people to trust. Maybe if he hadn’t come to Camelot so naïve and hopeful, he would never have allowed himself this – he would have rejected Kilgharrah’s prophecies, Arthur’s friendship, Gaius’ worries.

_All our weaknesses are also our strengths._

Through the pouring rain, Merlin squinted at the path back to Camelot and thought of what Gaius had said, about prophecies not concerning themselves with the things that mattered most to humans. Kilgharrah had tried so hard to engineer his emotions towards Mordred and Morgana, but he had failed on both accounts. He remembered telling Mordred to make his own choices while he could, and how they had chosen to love rather than to hate.

He couldn’t control his fate, but now he saw that fate was like a map, sketching out the world in black and white, flat and empty, all lines the same. The world was so much more than that. Maybe he couldn’t choose his destination, but what did it matter when he could pick the path, and there were so many paths to take? They were all on a journey, and arriving would only be the smallest part of it.

“There you are.”

Gaius only briefly spared a glance at Merlin when he came through the door nearly an hour later, stuck in the midst of what looked like a complicated batch of potions.

“Need help?” Merlin offered, but Gaius shook his head.

“The king asked you to attend him at the council meeting this afternoon. You’d better get ready.”

Merlin froze, one arm still stretched out to hang up his coat.

“Right,” he said. The words ‘attend to him’ and ‘council meeting’ set his thoughts whirling. Did this mean Merlin would be allowed to stay Arthur’s manservant? Or did Arthur just need an excuse for Merlin to be present at the meeting? He wavered, unsure.

“Did Arthur talk to you then?” he asked Gaius.

The physician put down the bowl in which he had been crushing crystals, and looked at Merlin properly.

“No, he had George pass on the message,” he replied, tone clipped, expression disapproving. “I would not make any assumptions at this point. Unless Guinevere told you something?”

“No.” Merlin shook his head. He sighed. “I guess I’ll find out.” Since he had cheated at the lake, his tunic was still dry – he quickly cleaned the worst of the mud from his boots and headed towards Arthur’s chambers.

Merlin could hear voices through the door as he approached, and soon made out George’s short, respectful words alongside Arthur’s authoritative ones. He hovered in the corridor. It didn’t seem right to knock and interrupt, especially since he didn’t know if he was wanted.

After what seemed like hours, the door opened and George slipped through it. He spotted Merlin and pivoted, sticking his head back through the gap.

“Merlin is here for you, my Lord.”

“Send him in then,” Merlin heard Arthur’s voice reply, and George stood back to let him pass.

“Thanks,” Merlin mumbled, throat suddenly dry, and pushed open the door.

Arthur’s chambers looked the same as ever, except there was an extra chair next to his desk, which usually only seated two people. The windows had been cleaned recently – something Merlin always forgot about – but the rain outside still left the room in dim greyness.

Arthur cleared his throat, and Merlin’s head snapped around to look at him. He sucked in a breath.

“You look like you could do with some sleep,” Merlin said, before he could stop himself. Arthur stared at him in silence, and Merlin managed to look past the dark bags under his eyes to his spotless clothes and straight posture, confident rather than stiff.

Then Arthur laughed – more a chuckle than a proper laugh – and shook his head.

“Now I know what I was missing these past days,” he said, sounding strangely pleased. Merlin heard a strangled sound escape his own mouth, something between relief and incredulity.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted to talk to me,” he mumbled, looking at the floor. He heard Arthur sigh.

“I was going to call for you yesterday,” the king said, pointedly. “But Gaius came to tell us about Morgana. I thought you might want some rest.”

Merlin looked up at the king, the familiar lines of his face and piercing blue eyes, which looked at him the same way they always had; with warmth and amusement, and maybe a little worry. The weight in his stomach lessened.

“I did,” he replied honestly, thinking of the mental state he had been in the day before. “And I’m sorry about Morgana.”

Arthur looked away this time, very different emotions flitting over his face. Merlin quickly changed the subject. “What is this council meeting about then?”

Arthur straightened. “I need to speak to the council about my plans. Their support is, unfortunately, crucial for their success.”

“And those plans are…?” Merlin asked, but Arthur shook his head.

“You’ll see,” he said enigmatically.

They left Arthur’s chambers and Merlin fell into step without thinking, walking slightly behind the king as he always had. They stopped at Gwen’s chambers, and she joined them, linking arms with Arthur and smiling at Merlin.

The council rose when the king and queen entered – all its seven members were present, with the unusual addition of Geoffrey. They had clearly been talking amongst themselves, and the tension in the air was palpable. Merlin wondered what Arthur had told them the meeting would be about, or whether Geoffrey’s presence had alerted them to its importance.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, after drawing Gwen’s chair back and settling down beside her. The eight men took their seats, watching the pair intently, while Merlin stood behind the king’s chair with his head slightly bowed, anticipation building in his stomach.

Arthur didn’t rush to meet the councilors’ questioning looks. Instead, he waved at Merlin to fill his and Gwen’s goblets with water, and drank half of his while observing the table in silence.

“I have called you together today to prepare for a time of change,” Arthur finally said, his voice commanding everyone’s attention. “We have important decisions ahead of us, perhaps the most important that any of us will make in our lifetime.”

Merlin risked a glance at the councilors. Lord Oweyn sat ramrod straight in the chair immediately to Arthur’s right, face wary, eyes glued to the king. The other men reacted much the same, with the exception of Geoffrey, whose eyes twinkled though his lips barely twitched. Sir Thybaudin, who sat next to him, threw him a covert glance, then looked back at the king, eyes calculating.

“However, I must make this clear,” Arthur continued, meeting the stare of each of them in turn. “I have also called you here to ask for your support. What I am about to tell you is not up for discussion; my mind is very much made up on the goal we must pursue, even if much of the path is yet to be determined.”

In a moment of strange disorientation, Merlin felt like he had dreamed of this moment, this setting, before. Arthur’s words echoed his thoughts at the lake earlier; he could almost feel the weight of history pivoting around them, the decisions of Arthur’s ancestors and those of his successors, all aligning themselves around the words he spoke now.

“I understand that some of you, especially those who have served my father before me, may not agree with my choice,” Arthur continued. “And I welcome your views on the challenges we may face, if you are willing to help overcome them.” The mention of Uther sent a frisson of movement around the room. Lord Faramond and Lord Oweyn exchanged a glance laden with alarm.

“But if you cannot find it in yourself to back me, and wish to renege on your commitment to this council, you have my blessing, and will face no punishment.”

The silence in the chamber was absolute. A warning like this had never been issued by Arthur; the council represented the biggest and oldest houses of nobility, whose link to the court largely relied on their presence in this group and its ability to influence the king. The threat was clear: fall in line or lose your seat at this table. It was a risky move, a show of power that Merlin could not anticipate the outcome of.

“This morning,” Arthur continued, “I have asked my knights for the same support, which I am happy to say they have pledged without exception, as has Geoffrey, who has kindly joined us today.”

Merlin’s heart skipped in his chest. _So he did tell them._ Considering the impact of Arthur’s words, Merlin had to appreciate how well they had been planned. Standing against the king was one thing, but he had already garnered allies, and the council was too fraught with power struggles among the nobles to easily present a united front.

“Magic,” Arthur continued calmly, “has been the cause of much war and suffering in Camelot.” Sharp intakes of breath could be heard around the room at the mention of the word ‘magic’. Merlin glanced at Gwen, who was surveying the councilors with calm confidence.

“But magic is also a part of Camelot, however much we may deny it. Magic users are among us all – the common people, nobility, and even royalty.” Arthur paused, the briefest flash of pain crossing his face at the reference to Morgana. “You have heard much about the threats of magic, of our victories over sorcerers and magical creatures. What you have not been told is that magic users have always been fighting with us, and that without them, those victories would not have been possible.”

Lord Oweyn’s mouth fell open in horror. Sir Lucan stared at Arthur in amazement. Sir Thybaudin’s eyebrows had shot up so high they had disappeared beneath his hair.

“They are my subjects like any other, and I can no longer repay their loyalty with silence. I know the ban on magic cannot be lifted overnight; the Purge has left scars on our kingdom that need time to heal.” Arthur looked around the table, where uncertainty prevailed.

“But lift it we must,” he said firmly. “And we will take our first steps to that end immediately.”


	18. Chapter 18

And with that, chaos broke out.

All seven councilors began talking at once, clamoring to be heard, protesting and asking for clarifications on _what did His Highness mean that magic users had fought with them?_ Only Geoffrey sat quietly, and Merlin could swear he saw amusement on his face.

Even without knowing them well, Merlin saw a split emerge along the table immediately – Lord Oweyn, Lord Faramond and Lord Jeronim, seated to the right, all expressed varying degrees of disbelief and disagreement, whereas Sir Thybaudin and Lord Averet at the end simply looked skeptical. To the left, Sir Lucan and Sir Wilmot looked curious, and fell silent before anyone else.

After a few minutes, Arthur raised a hand and the conversation subsided.

“One question at the time. Lord Oweyn?”

Lord Oweyn, despite his balding hair and extravagant opulence, cut an imposing figure as he rose from his seat.

“My Lord,” he said formally, “This is madness. Would you erase your father’s legacy, undo his life’s work, on a whim? Surely you cannot trust those magic users you speak of – it must be obvious to you that they have ulterior motives – such as this!” He gestured around the room, growing more impassioned with every word. “Sorcerers have always sought to divide loyalties and weaken the kingdom. You cannot allow this to happen.”

Arthur waited patiently for him to sit back down. When he replied, his voice was quiet and measured. “You speak of dividing loyalties. My father’s attempt to wipe out magic turned his own daughter into one of the biggest threats to this kingdom, and she has waged war on us for years. The Purge gained us more enemies from within Camelot than ever before. We have been attacked by sorcerers, sidhe, dragons even. We are like a snake biting its own tail, fighting its own strength, instead of uniting against our real enemies.”

Lord Oweyn opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur shook his head and motioned for Lord Faramond to speak instead. Usually, Camelot’s treasurer and Lord Oweyn presented themselves in perfect agreement, but now, Lord Faramond ignored Lord Oweyn’s entreating look entirely. His sharp profile, framed by dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders, had a shrewdness about it.

“Magic corrupts,” he said simply. “Am I to understand that Your Highness no longer believes it to be so?”

“Power corrupts,” Arthur countered immediately. “And yet we have not made away with all those who wield it.” He spread his hands to indicate at the council, then to himself and Gwen. “Do you not believe that power can be used responsibly?”

Lord Faramond merely bent his head in acknowledgement, and said no more. Lord Oweyn looked livid, unable to grasp why his ally was not contradicting the king further. The Treasurer’s right-hand neighbour, Lord Jeronim, frowned deeply before speaking.

“Your Highness, regardless of the nature of magic,” he argued in a low voice, “we have fought long and hard to eliminate it. If we are to welcome it back now, we disrespect all those who have died for this fight, have given their blood and their lives for our kingdom.”

The statement drew a few murmurs of agreement and looks of unease. Gwen placed her hand on Arthur’s arm, and addressed Lord Jeronim in the king’s stead.

“Our men have died fighting sorcerers who sought to harm Camelot and its people. They did not die in vain, and they will be remembered.” The queen’s voice was firm. “We must understand that our hatred has blinded us to the simple truth: we never eliminated magic. Most magic users have been living amongst us peacefully, hiding their abilities, not seeking to attack us. Some of them were among the very men who died fighting for Camelot. Are we not to honour their memories, and their lives?”

Merlin wanted to applaud, and struggled to keep the proud smile that threatened to spread across his face in check. Arthur and Gwen were conducting themselves with so much assurance, were rejecting concerns so wholeheartedly, that no one could have guessed that their own change of heart had only occurred a few days ago. He already saw their determination impact the seven men before them. He was under no illusions – most of the council members would not truly think differently of magic. But they only needed to believe that opposing Arthur was not in their interest, for him to be able to act.

Sir Thybaudin, to Lord Jeronim’s right, asked: “My Lady, both you and the king have now spoken of those benevolent magic users among us. Where is the proof of their existence?”

Arthur and Gwen exchanged a private smile then.

“I’m afraid, Sir Thybaudin,” Gwen said, still smiling, “that you will have to trust our word. Under the current laws, it would be unwise to give more information and put their lives in danger.”

Sir Thybaudin looked, for all intents and purposes, as if he very much did not trust the queen’s word, but he could hardly admit this. Lord Averet opened his mouth to speak, but the loud scrape of a chair pushed back forcefully on the stone floor cut him short.

Lord Oweyn had risen to his feet again. All heads turned to him; he was quivering with indignation.

“Apologies, my Lady, my Lord,” he said mechanically, ignoring Arthur’s irritated frown at the interruption. “But I must speak. I had hoped this to be a test, a fancy, but I can see you are quite serious.” Stiffly, he bowed his head. “You asked for our support. I cannot, in good conscience, back this – delusion.”

Arthur recovered quickly; he set his mouth in a grim line, and nodded. “I understand,” he said simply. For a second, Lord Oweyn’s anger abated to make room for anticipation, but Arthur continued: “I thank you for your many years of service, Lord Oweyn. The queen and I have been grateful for your council. I cannot fault a man for following his conscience.”

Merlin held his breath; he wasn’t the only one. Lord Oweyn had been Uther’s right-hand man for as long as Merlin could remember. His family’s influence had already dwindled when Arthur had refused to take on his sons as knights. This would be the final blow to his status, one that he would not take gladly.

For a long moment, Lord Oweyn stood frozen, mouth opening in a retort, but he caught himself. He lowered his back into a rigid bow, as if pushing it down by mere willpower against his protesting muscles.

“Your Highness, my Lady,” he said, face white and lips trembling with anger. He left his chair askew and strode from the council chamber, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Merlin let out his breath. The atmosphere in the chamber crackled with strain. Arthur sipped on his water, observing the remaining men. The empty chair to his right drew the eyes of the council members like a magnet, each of the men trying and failing to look away from the gaping vacuum that had unexpectedly opened up – whatever appetite for mutiny Lord Oweyn had hoped to instill with his departure would have to compete against this pull of power. His family’s influence would fall to someone else now, and the question of who might take his place clearly played on everyone’s mind.

Arthur ignored the looks, and the space to his right.

“Would anyone else like to join Lord Oweyn?” he asked calmly. All eyes went to Lord Faramond, who merely leaned back in his chair and grinned lazily. Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if he had already worked out how to use the situation to his advantage.

“Good,” Arthur finally said, when no reply came forth. “Lord Averet, I believe you were interrupted.”

“Your Highness,” Lord Averet said, and for a moment, Merlin wasn’t sure he would find his train of thought – Lord Averet always found it difficult to stick to the subject. However, he rallied and said: “My objection is not to magic itself. But as you and the queen have – quite prudently – pointed out, our fight against the Lady Morgana takes up much of our time and resources. She may just be one sorcerer, albeit a powerful one. And of course you, as regents of this kingdom, can easily see her as such – an individual, that is, not to represent all those with magic.” He paused just long enough for Merlin to appreciate how quickly he had adjusted his arguments to incorporate words spoken by Arthur not five minutes ago. “Forgive me, my Lord,” Lord Averet continued, “But I cannot see that the common people of Camelot would understand this with the same ease. The Lady Morgana will be the only sorcerer many of your subjects know of, and they have been taught to fear magic. They will see it as one and the same. It would be difficult, impossible in my opinion, to ask the people to fear the Lady Morgana but not those who are like her.”

Merlin couldn’t see Arthur’s expression without moving from his position too obviously, but he could hear in the tone of his reply that the king was pleased by the question.

“I agree with you completely, Lord Averet,” he said. “The people have not seen magic used for good, and this will be one of the challenges for us to overcome. However, we have an advantage.” He sat up straighter. “I tell you this in confidence, but it will soon become common knowledge. Morgana is no longer a threat we face. She was defeated, once and for all, only a day ago.”

Exclamations of surprise met his words. A few councilors gave congratulations; Lord Faramond smoothly offered his condolences, reminding everyone that the person whose death they rejoiced at was the king’s sister – this dampened the glee on a few faces to a more appropriate solemnity.

“Who are we to thank for this victory, my Lord?” Sir Lucan spoke up through the conversations.

The king nodded at him. “Morgana was fought and killed by one of my men, who also happens to be a sorcerer, in my service.”

Merlin bit back a snort. _One of my men_ – Arthur was clearly trying to protect him, as no one would consider a servant to fit this description. However, not knowing of Mordred’s involvement, the king had involuntarily told the truth more explicitly than he realised.

“A sorcerer – in your service?” Lord Averet repeated weakly.

“I understand your surprise,” Arthur said, addressing the room at large. “I shared it, not long ago, convinced as I was that magic had been driven from Camelot. But make no mistake. My father too had sorcerers loyal to him, who would use their magic to his advantage. Morgana turned against us long before we knew of it; only those with magic as powerful as hers could keep her at bay.”

Geoffrey cleared his throat, speaking for the first time. “I must attest to the truth in His Highness’ words,” he said, sounding regretful. “I am afraid King Uther’s orders did not allow me to say so before, and I do not wish to tarnish his name; I am sure he had good reasons for his actions. But it is true he spared several sorcerers from the Purge, who remained loyal to him.”

Merlin’s head spun. He looked from Geoffrey to Arthur and back, thinking furiously. Who were they talking about? The only sorcerer Merlin knew to fit this description was Gaius. At a stretch, they could argue that Uther had turned a blind eye towards Morgana, but who else had he done this for?

Whatever the meaning of Geoffrey’s words, their effect could not be denied. As a member of the cleric, Geoffrey’s role and experience transcended politics – he did not have a seat on the council for a reason. His impartiality could not be compromised.

The confirmation that Uther had lied to his council about magic, and flaunted his victories while potentially relying on sorcerers, clearly did not appeal to anyone in the room. Merlin still wondered just how truthful Arthur was being, but he saw the tide turn, slowly, in the king’s favour, as those who had opposed magic in Uther’s name looked for an alternative rationale. Sir Lucan and Sir Wilmot spoke quietly to each other. Sir Thybaudin looked thoughtful, and much less skeptical than before. Only Lord Averet and Lord Jeronim exchanged dark looks over the table.

It was Lord Faramond who pushed past the point of no return. “Your Highness,” he said. “I have my reservations on this proposal, as I suspect we all do. But I see that our knowledge of the situation is incomplete, and I consider it my duty to educate myself, in order to best be of use to you. You may count on my support.”

Merlin could hardly believe his ears. Never in his memory had Lord Faramond admitted to a failure on his part. Arthur looked impressed, and gave his thanks immediately. “It heartens me to hear such words from you, Lord Faramond. It would be much more comfortable for all of us to defend our ignorance, and hold on to our beliefs, but it is only through evolution that Camelot can prosper.”

Sir Lucan spoke next, followed immediately by Sir Wilmot, both pledging their council. The other men did not hesitate long to chime in – Lord Jeronim went last, with a shake of his head, face grim: “I too will remain in your service, Your Highness, if only because my faith in your wisdom is greater than my doubts.”

Arthur and Gwen acknowledged them all in turn, and Merlin no longer bothered to hide his smile. His magic was singing in his veins, thrumming in his heartbeat. He had never lost confidence in Arthur, but watching him now renewed it; this was the king he had chosen, and Merlin would gladly play whatever part Arthur required him to.

“Well then,” Arthur said, with a smile. “Let us get to work.”

He shuffled through the papers in front of him, and withdrew a page of parchment from them. _He did rewrite it after all_ , Merlin thought happily.

“As I mentioned,” Arthur said, “the path to lifting the ban on magic is yet to be decided. However, the queen and I are of one mind that reaching out to the druids should be our first effort.” He looked around the table and, finding no immediate disagreement, continued. “Druids value peacefulness above all else. We have never suffered violence at their hands, though they have suffered much at ours. Their population in Camelot has been severely reduced, but a few settlements remain. A peace treaty with them would serve as a symbol of our changing stance on magic, and I cannot anticipate significant opposition.”

He was about to continue, but Gwen leaned over to quietly murmur something in his ear, nodding her head towards the empty chair that used to belong to Lord Oweyn.

“Ah yes,” Arthur said, as if he had forgotten. He looked at the chair.

“Merlin,” he called, “take a seat, will you?”

The world slowed to a standstill. _How did I not see this coming_ , was Merlin’s first thought, breaking through the stupor, closely followed by _I’m going to kill him_. He gritted his teeth and focused his entire attention on his feet, willing them not to stumble as he walked to Arthur’s side, and managed to only make minimal noise when pulling the chair closer to the table.

He immediately thanked his own foresight for not looking up until he was seated – when he did, he found six frosty stares fixed on him. He ducked his head instinctively.

“Your Highness,” Lord Averet volunteered, barely keeping the distaste from his voice, “Are we to understand that your servant is joining this meeting?”

“Why, no, Lord Averet,” Arthur replied, clearly enjoying himself, “that would be entirely inappropriate.”

He turned to Merlin, who tried his hardest not to glare.

“Merlin, I hereby name you advisor to the king,” Arthur announced, and looked back at Lord Averet. “I hope this will be more – befitting?” Lord Averet made a strangled noise that might have been assent, or something else entirely.

“Don’t worry, I won’t give you a title,” Arthur said to Merlin, who clearly hadn’t controlled his expression half as well as he thought. “No need to look so terrified.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Merlin said, and the relief colouring his voice drew chuckles from around the table. The hostility in the looks directed at him faded a little, turning into consideration. Now that he hadn’t been raised to their rank, Merlin presented less of a threat. For some reason, Geoffrey alone beamed at him, and Merlin smiled tentatively in return. He caught Gwen’s eye, and his smile strengthened.

“Now,” Arthur said. “My main question to you is: what can we ask of the druids, in exchange for our protection and commitment to peace?”

Merlin watched the councilors break into discussion, throw out and dismiss ideas rapidly, all keen to prove their pledge. Merlin swallowed. This wasn’t his strength – the politics of the council chamber and the subtleties of rank eluded him – but he understood why Arthur needed his voice at this table. No matter how convincingly he had defended magic as a whole, the king had barely scratched its surface, while Merlin had lived it his entire life. So he listened, ignoring the more outlandish suggestions, taking note of the more reasonable ones, wondering whether he should jump in, until Lord Jeronim questioned why druids would even _need_ their protection, since their settlements were warded so well that no one could find them-

_Wards_ , Merlin thought, an idea taking hold. _Of course._ _Not the kind that could benefit us in a battle or prevent an attack, but wind and weather cause damage to castle walls, too…_

He met Gwen’s brown eyes across the table, and she smiled at his expression.

_It would show our trust,_ he realised, still staring at Gwen, _and give hope._ _Druids had to learn to ward their settlements for their survival, and now they could take pride in their skill, use it to protect others._

“Merlin. What do you suggest?” Gwen asked lightly. The discussions around them abated, faces varying degrees of hostility as they turned to the former servant, but Merlin only saw the small smile playing around Arthur’s mouth as he raised his eyebrow in expectation.

So Merlin took a deep breath, and told them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...the end. :)
> 
> Thank you everyone who stuck around to read, comment and leave kudos. I hadn't written in a while and it wasn't easy to get back into, but you made it completely worth it!
> 
> I had so much more headcanon for this fic, but I wanted to end it on a more realistic and less "neat" note - some questions were answered, some things Merlin still doesn't know for certain. You may have figured out my own ideas for the prophecy dilemma, but it's up to you how you want to read it; my main objective was having Merlin come to terms with it, and learn to make his own choices.
> 
> Feedback always appreciated, positive and constructive alike.
> 
> Much love x


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